The Role Of The Knight
by dcat8888
Summary: A woman is murdered, someone appears from Milt's past, an old friend for Mark shows up at Gull's Way and we learn more about Tommy Hardcastle.


The Role of the Knight 

by dcat

These characters do not belong to me.

This fic is rated PG, mild violence, mild romance and for a change…a crime.

Please allow me to thank Susan Zodin for the most excellent job of beta-proofing this story. She is very patient with me when I make all sorts of stupid mistakes and she does it so nicely. I appreciate all her hard work and all the time she spends cleaning up my boo boo's.

"Well, where are you going, Judge?" McCormick nearly whined as he followed Hardcastle out the front door and toward the garage.

"You know you're not eight years old, McCormick. You can stay home alone," Milt groused and tried to ignore the kid as he just kept walking.

McCormick stopped right where he was and sort of kicked at the ground. "Fine, I know when I'm not wanted."

Hardcastle couldn't believe his ears; he shook his head in disbelief and spun around to face McCormick. "For crying out loud, I'm just meeting an old friend for a cup of coffee. It's no one you know. No big deal, nothing you'd be interested in. Do I really have to take you everywhere?" He waited for an answer, but McCormick kept his eyes on the ground and when no words came, the jurist added, "And don't you have some work to do around here, anyway?"

"Not really," McCormick mumbled, not at all satisfied by the Judge's answer.

"Not really? Ha!" Hardcastle rolled his eyes, somewhat surprised by the dependency that McCormick was exhibiting. He turned around and faced his charge. "Seems to me I remember that I wanted you to put a coat of paint on the dining room walls and ceiling? In fact the paint has been sitting out in the hall right outside of said dining room for days now. Why don't you stop your whining and go do that?"

"Now? You want me to paint it now?"

"Now's as good a time as any," the Judge said moving toward the pick-up.

"I'd rather go out for coffee," McCormick hinted.

"Tough, you're not invited," Hardcastle got into the truck. "I'll be back when I'm back...now get to painting."

The Judge started up the truck and pulled away, leaving McCormick standing alone in the driveway with a childish scowl on his face. He kicked the ground one more time and went back into the house to begin the painting project.

This was the second time in the same week that the Judge had pulled out the same 'old friend' excuse and McCormick was... well... for lack of a better feeling, jealous. Granted the Judge knew a lot of people, but in the nearly two years that McCormick had been paroled into his custody, Hardcastle was always more than happy and willing to bring Mark along and introduce him to all of his friends. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when Hardcastle hadn't offered to take him along. McCormick was the one who would gently decline to go along from time to time. No, this wasn't right, not right at all. What Mark couldn't understand now was what had changed? Why did Hardcastle suddenly start going off for coffee alone? And just who was he meeting? And why? What was the big secret? What was the Judge trying to hide? It left McCormick with endless possibilities and questions that bounced around under his curly mop of hair.

Mark had reached the house and went inside mumbling to himself. He began to move the dining room chairs out into the hall and dragged in the drop cloth, paint, roller brush, and the paint tray. 'Tell me to go and paint the dining room. I'm not good enough to meet whoever your friend is. All I ever hear is 'get to work McCormick; I got a list of chores for you to do McCormick;'... work, work, work." The four walls didn't bother to answer.

OOOOO

"Geez, Matt, what's it been? About ten, fifteen years, huh?" Milt said across the restaurant table.

"Something like that, Mr. Hardcastle."

"Oh, enough of that now, call me Milt or Judge if that's more comfortable for ya," Hardcastle said. "The kid who lives with me calls me Judge, so I'm used to that. It's sort of like a first name, yet it's got the formal ring to it too." The Judge smiled, thinking about what he was saying and who he was saying it about.

"I'll try to, but it's hard to change a habit when you've had it instilled in you since you were a child," Matt Soens explained. "You know the whole 'show respect for your elders' thing."

Milt nodded his understanding and took a sip of coffee. "It is really good to see you though. How have you been?"

"Better now. I was at the VA up in Sacramento for nearly five years. But now I've been able to get back home here and start making something with my life. It's been a tough road, but things are smoothing out I think. I'm glad to have the chance to make contact with old friends and stuff."

"Five years, huh?" Hardcastle didn't want to pry, but he certainly was curious and the comment just sort of slipped out. What could possibly have happened to the young man in Vietnam that would land him in a hospital for five years?

"I spent the first month re-couping in Vietnam, till they cleared me for transport stateside. Then another four months in Honolulu and finally up north for the rest of the time."

"I didn't know that, Matt. I'm sorry to hear it."

"It was war, you know?"

"You look great now," Milt commented with a smile.

"Plastic surgeries, pills and prosthetics can really fix a guy right up, huh?" Matt returned the smile. "But I didn't come to talk about me or the war. I really just wanted to know how you and your wife are doing. I was sort of hoping you'd bring her along. Tommy talked about the two of you all the time in basic and when we landed over in 'Nam, and the couple of times we got to meet before we shipped out, I really felt special just being at your house," Matt explained. "You and Mrs. Hardcastle were really great to all of us kids. I guess I just wanted to say thank you."

Milt dropped his head when Matt asked about Nancy. "My wife passed away about ten years ago. Cancer," he quietly said.

"Now I'm the one to be sorry. I didn't know. She was a wonderful woman."

"Thank you," the judge said softly.

"So who is living with you now...you mentioned a kid? Did you adopt someone?"

That brought the smile back to Hardcastle, and he let go of a laugh. "No, no adoption, though sometimes it feels like I did. And he's not really a kid either. He's a few years behind you and Tommy in age. His name's Mark McCormick. Had him in my court a few times and even sent him off to prison and well... to make a long story short... he got out and I'm sort of making sure he stays on the straight and narrow." He paused, "He's a helluva kid though; you'd like him. Not much at all like Tommy. He's got a smart mouth, but he works hard, he's real sharp and most of all he's keeping his nose clean. I think he's gonna make it."

Matt listened intently. "That's a fine thing you're doing, Judge. I'm sure he appreciates it."

Milt scratched his chin, "Maybe some days he does; today, I doubt it...I left him with a painting project."

They both laughed.

"Tommy would think that's a fine thing you're doing. He had a hard time over in 'Nam, he used to let it get to him--the people, you know. He wanted to save the whole world and fix everyone's problems. I used to joke with him that if he ran the Army, he'd just bring both sides to the beach and hash everything out over a game of volleyball."

"And follow it with sandwiches and lemonade," Hardcastle added with a smile and a memory of all the times Tommy had a group of kids down on Seagull Beach.

Matt nodded and warmly smiled, "Yeah, he must have got that from you."

"More like his Mother. Maybe I got it from both of them— he had a big heart," Milt explained. "He really did care a lot about people. You're right, he always wanted to be the mediator."

Matt changed the conversation back to McCormick, "So this kid, he helps you around Gull's Way then?"

Milt nodded, "Yeah, and we work on some projects together with the police. Turns out he's got a real knack for crime fighting."

"Better than his painting skills?"

"They're about even, but I'll give the nod to the crime fighting. I think he'd rather do that than paint." Hardcastle offered up a chuckle.

"Who wouldn't?" Matt asked with a laugh. "It sure sounds like you're doing fine then, sir...despite losing your son and wife."

Hardcastle glanced around the restaurant, as if to find the right words. "You gotta keep moving forward; there's no use in looking back. You know that."

"That took me a while to learn. Vietnam...it was different, Judge, from the war _you_ were in. Tommy and I talked a lot about that. My Dad was in WWII too, so me and Tommy shared that. Tommy never regretted joining up, but I wanted to quit right away. They were tough on us in basic. I hated the training, but once I got over there, it was a little better--the officers lightened up a little.

"I thought you two got put in different units?" Milt asked.

"We did, but it was the same platoon. We saw each other at the base camp all the time. It sure was good to have him around. We were like brothers."

Milt thought back to letters he'd gotten from Tommy. There hardly was a mention of Matt Soens after they'd finished basic training in the states. Maybe he'd missed something. He made a mental note to reread some of them when he got home.

The rest of the conversation was pleasant enough, and they wrapped up their discussion with Milt picking up the tab on pie and coffee. Hardcastle thought that would be it, but was surprised when Matt indicated he'd like to get together again and even more when he suggested the following week. The Judge reluctantly agreed and the two went their separate ways.

OOOOO

Five and a half hours and a freshly painted dining room later, Hardcastle came home. McCormick had moved on from the painting to the daily cleaning of the pool, as Milt inspected the paint job and proceeded out to the patio to see Mark skimming the pool with a net.

"Nice job inside, kid. You picked out a good color, too; it really brightens up the room." Hardcastle softened his tone from earlier and offered up a compliment to the kid as a peace offering of sorts. He did regret the way he avoiding telling McCormick what was going on, but some things were still private, and he wasn't ready to open up his past life to the kid.

Mark ignored him for a second and kept skimming. "Thanks," he finally said, softly. Still inquisitive over where and what the Judge had done all day, he fished for an explanation. "How was the coffee?"

"Hot and strong," was all that Hardcastle answered. "The pool looks fine, why don't you quit for the day? We'll have some dinner, watch the ball game, you know?"

Mark knew he shouldn't be mad, but he was and his mood showed it. McCormick got the 'I'm not telling you anything else' message loud and clear. "Thanks just the same, Judge, but I got other plans for tonight." He continued on with the task at hand, turning his back on the older man. It made him mad and hurt that the Judge was bent on keeping some sort of secret, and his response was to revert to the mood of a 5-year-old.

Hardcastle watched him for a second and knew the kid was miffed. "Listen, kiddo... it's not what you think all right? There's no mystery or secret, and I'm not turning you in for a newer model, okay?"

The 'newer model' comment really bothered McCormick, but he let it go for the time being, "If it's not a _secret_, Judge, why don't you just tell me? I mean, I thought we were friends? We're supposed to be able to tell each other anything."

"Because, that's why," Hardcastle said.

"Brilliant, what a great reason. Okay forget it, forget all about it. You don't want to say anything, that's perfectly okay. I'll just keep slaving away in the dark, at your beck and call whenever you need me to chase after some bad guys or clean your pool, we can just have an employee/employer relationship. I get it. I thought it was different, especially after a couple of years of the Lone Ranger, but now that I know the rules, I'll play the game too."

Hardcastle was not about to fall for the kid's melodramatic humor, "Good, I'm glad you understand, McCormick. Now let's get some dinner, huh? I'm starving."

"Go ahead. I'm going out."

Hardcastle didn't feel like having the discussion anymore, merely putting his hands out in disgust and waving the kid off and going back into the house to fix his own dinner. He didn't have to explain anything to the kid. He was an adult who could come and go as he pleased, and this was _his_ house the last time he checked. McCormick was in his custody. He didn't need to report anything. The kid would get over being jealous. Besides, he had no reason to be.

McCormick watched the Judge go into the house. He knew he was acting like a spoiled child, but after two years of practically being joined at the hip, this new 'I'm going solo' routine was really bothering him. He finished up the pool and decided he would go out for the night, alone. Maybe it was all for the best. Maybe they did need some apart time.

OOOOO

Later that night, the woman made her way from the dark parking lot toward her apartment. She silently cursed at the overhead light which appeared to have burned out again, leaving the lot in abject darkness. She'd have to call the building and grounds manager of the apartment complex again. This was the third time the light had gone out in the past month. Here it was nearing 10pm, not "too" late in the night, yet a woman alone needed to be careful, especially in Los Angeles. Her new job was taking its toll on her with long hours and a long commute to and from the office. She gathered up her purse and her bag of fast food and made her way toward the building.

Across the parking lot, a man stepped out quickly from behind two cars...

OOOOO

Hardcastle ate his breakfast in angry silence. He fixed his eyes on the front of the morning paper and reread the story over and over. The facts weren't changing. A woman had been viciously murdered just steps from her apartment. Police were still scouring the crime scene for any leads. No witnesses were found. One local citizen already wondered if the city had a serial killer on their hands, even though only one murder had been committed.

"Morning, Judge!" Mark McCormick came bounding onto the sunny patio, wearing a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, and a yellow bathrobe. He had no clue what the Judge had been reading. McCormick had decided to himself to try to give the day a new chance. To forget the past and move forward. He'd gotten over being jealous.

Hardcastle didn't even look up, he merely murmured a greeting.

"Must be something good in that paper this morning, huh?" There was still no acknowledgement of McCormick's presence or yesterday's outbursts, and Mark wasn't about to bring it up. But Mark didn't like the silence either, so he kept on talking. "Well, yes, I didsleep very well, thank you, Judge. No, no, I got to bed at a reasonable time, and now I'm looking forward to a delicious breakfast. These English muffins look particularly spectacular this morning..." He was just about to keep going when Hardcastle finally interrupted him.

"What are you babbling about, McCormick? Can't you see I'm reading the paper? Have you ever been quiet for one moment in your life?"

McCormick swiped the paper away from him and saw the headline about a woman being murdered. "Let me guess, you already know who did this?" he said with a smart aleck grin. He didn't even bother look at the article, merely sliding the paper back around so the Judge could keep reading.

Hardcastle was obviously in no mood to joke. "This woman was murdered, McCormick...do you think that's a joke? Because I don't see any humor in it."

Mark stopped mid-muffin, realizing how callous his remark had indeed been and swallowed hard. He knew Hardcastle was right all the way on this one. "I'm sorry, Judge. You're right, that was very insensitive of me. I apologize."

Hardcastle was already back to rereading the article again and he held up his left hand and waved off McCormick's apology. He knew he had jumped to conclusions, too. He knew McCormick cared about people and hadn't meant to disrespect the murdered woman.

"What happened to her?" Mark asked.

"Well, there's lots more questions than answers to this one right now, kiddo. It just happened overnight, so I'm sure the police are just getting started. From the sounds of this article though, it was pretty brutal. No one deserves this," Milt explained, pushing the paper away in McCormick's direction.

Mark reached over and, picking up the page, saw a picture of a 30ish aged woman with a small round face and fair colored hair. Her name, according to the caption, was Ellie Warren. "She's a nice looking woman."

"She was, that is," Hardcastle corrected him. "Smart, too--it said she just took a job with Oceanic Bank as their new vice president."

"Was she married?" Mark asked, still scanning the article.

Hardcastle shook his head no. "No husband or kids; just a nice woman in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"They think it's a serial killer?" Mark questioned, reading the quote from an apartment neighbor.

"Nah, that's just speculation. One worried guy thinks it's a serial killer, but have you heard of any other apartment parking lot murders lately?"

"Well, no, but he's right--it only takes one to start it up."

"You've been reading those thriller novels again, haven't you? People need to let the police do their work; _they'll_ find whoever did this," Hardcastle said.

"So you don't have any leads or suspects or anything, right?" McCormick asked suspiciously, still curious as to why Hardcastle seemed more upset than usual over this murdered woman. "I'm getting a vibe here that we're going to look into this."

"Nope, we're not, and I don't have any clues. Although anyone is capable of murder, you know. It could be some goon that I had some sort of contact with, but who knows? I'd need to see the file and read the evidence." Milt stood up from the table to get some more coffee.

McCormick managed to keep most of his comments to himself for the rest of the breakfast. The Judge finished reading the rest of the paper, folded up his napkin, cleared his throat and announced to Mark that he was heading into town.

McCormick knew that was Hardcastle's code for going to see Frank, so he quickly set down the glass of juice he was drinking, folded up the sports section, and said, "Can you give me a few minutes to get dressed? I'll go with you."

"I didn't say 'we', McCormick. I said, I'm going into town. You need to stick around here and get this place spic and span."

"Okay, fine," the kid grinned. "I'll put the dishes in the dishwasher and wipe down the kitchen spic and span, and throw on some clothes, and Tonto will be ready to go along for the ride in about twenty minutes."

"I don't need Tonto along for the ride," the Judge groused, "just stick around here." Milt was already at the doorway. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. I'll hold down the fort," Mark said dejectedly.

Milt went into the house and grabbed his keys thinking all the while that he should have just told the kid that he knew Ellie Warren, but it was a long time ago. This might not even be the same Ellie Warren. Los Angeles was a big city...this could easily be another woman completely. He could see the disappointment all over the kid's face, but he just wasn't ready to spill out his guts to McCormick yet without confirming the identity of the victim. He had to find out for himself, and the best place he knew where to start would be with Frank Harper.

McCormick leaned back and slouched in the patio chair as the Judge walked away. He had to learn to take this stuff not so personally, but damn it, he hated being excluded--especially when he knew that Hardcastle had his hair in a bun over this murder. A 5-year-old could have picked up on that, just by the way the Judge was acting. He could go take a look at Hardcastle's files and see if he had one on this Ellie Warren, but he opted to not to. He had not gone into them without permission yet, and he wasn't quite willing to do so just yet either. No, he'd do what the old donkey wanted him to do. It wasn't like he didn't have a list of household chores to complete. Hardcastle was relentless when it came to adding things to it. McCormick would get done with a day of work thinking that he'd accomplished a lot, only to see ten new things added to his "to do" list. There were times he felt like a slave, and yet as he worked around the estate it was obvious the things he was assigned definitely needed to be done. He knew the Judge wasn't just having him do work just to do work. But he sure didn't like being left in the dark over whatever was happening now.

OOOOO

It was just like yesterday, or it sure seemed like it was as Milt drove the pick-up truck and thought back to one of the many discussions he had with his son and his wife.

"_What do you mean, 'who is he'? I told you I met him at the enlistment meeting. I didn't ask to see his resume. He's just a guy who got drafted like I did," Tommy began to explain. "And he just happens to live in the same town. What's wrong with that?"_

"_There's something about him I don't trust," Milt shrugged._

_Tommy Hardcastle rolled his eyes and turned his back on his father. "From a five minute greeting. Come on, Dad, how can you tell anything from a five minute introduction. Just because you're a Judge, doesn't mean you have to judge my friends. And you say that about every friend I've ever had. Would you tell him, Mom?" Tommy turned to his mother for back up._

_Nancy smiled at her son, "You do say that quite a lot , Milt."_

"_Not about everyone. I like Jon McGee and Luke Taylor."_

_Tommy interrupted him before he could even finish his thought, "who just happen to be the sons of other judges. Come on, Dad, this whole conversation is ridiculous. I'm just going out with him tomorrow night to a baseball game. We do have the upcoming hitch in the Army in common. Can you just cut me some slack for a change?"_

_Milt took a deep breath. He really didn't want to stop this particular discussion, but it was only two months until his only son would be off to basic training and then probably on his way to Vietnam. Even though he could be stubborn as an Arkansas mule, he knew a night at a ballgame wasn't worth getting himself worked into a lather about; nor was it the best time to alienate his son. It seemed like they'd been having these 'nightly discussions' ever since Tommy's draft notice had come. It was too tumultuous a time with Tommy being on the crest of manhood anyway. "You're right. Tom. Go and have fun--just be careful, okay?" Milt resigned himself to agreement._

"_I always am, Dad. I learned that from you." Tommy smiled a relieved grin at his father and gave his mom a wink. "Right now, I have a date."_

"_Another one?" Nancy asked. "Who is the lucky girl tonight?"_

_Milt listened absentmindedly as he went and sat behind his desk. He and Nancy hardly ever saw Tommy in the evenings anymore. The boy had more girlfriends than anyone he'd ever known. His popularity in high school had soared. He was a three sport star in football, basketball and baseball, a straight 'A' student, and class president. The Hardcastle home was a haven for Tommy's high school class, as all the kids seemed to hang around there year round._

"_It's just Ellie. We're going to a movie, then probably over to Mick's for a burger. You know she's heading up to Berkeley early for summer school classes, so we just thought we'd say our goodbyes tonight," Tommy explained to his mother._

"_That girl is so smart! Did she decide on medical school or business yet?" Nancy asked. Ellie Warren and Tommy had been neighbors and friends since the third grade. Both Nancy and Milt knew the two of them were nothing more than friends though; practically brother and sister._

"_She's still trying to discern," Tommy said, with a glare directed right at Milt, who had been trying for the last several months to encourage his son to use better vocabulary as well as giving him career advice._

"_Good word," Milt slyly smiled, picking up on the word 'discern,' "and she is a smart girl. I wish you had decided on Berkeley."_

_Tommy sighed, "All I wanted to do was let you guys know I was going out, and now it's turned into a 'why are you joining the Army?' routine. Do we have to go through this every night? I mean, I got drafted; it's not like I had a choice."_

"_You could have deferred your enlistment and gone to college, that's what we're trying to say," Milt replied, his voice rising. "You've gotten good grades in high school, you would have gotten accepted at any University."_

"_Except I don't know what I want to do with my life yet, and there's kids that do, that deserve to be in college, studying those things. I'd just be taking up space, and that's not fair. Besides, you__were in the Army, you said it made a man out of you." Tommy was quick to defend his position._

_Milt couldn't argue with the pride he felt that his son was willing to fight in such an unpopular war. He knew the kinds of experiences his son would encounter, but it had been over thirty years since World War II, and Milt watched the nightly news and read countless newspaper reports of the horrors of this new war, things he could barely comprehend. It scared him. He couldn't deny the fact that he'd rather have his only son safe and sound on a college campus somewhere. He and Nancy had discussed it and both reluctantly decided that even though it would be hard, they needed to accept that Tommy was becoming a man, and because of that they needed to trust and respect the decisions he made about his life and his future. "Tommy, I know it sounds like a broken record, but you'll understand it better when you become a parent yourself," Milt said. "We just want the best for you."_

"_This is __the best thing for me, Dad. I'll be all right, and it's what I want to do."_

"_I wish I could really believe it, son, but it's your life-- you have to live it," Milt answered._

"_I'm glad you said that, Dad." Tommy walked over and gave Milt a gentle slap on his back. "Now as much as I'd like to continue with this delightful and enlightening chat, I really need to go. I promised Ellie I'd pick her at 6:20. She hates it when I'm late."_

"_Yeah, yeah, you better move it...," Milt started._

_Nancy finished, "...or you'll lose it." She and Milt both laughed in unison. A not so amused Tommy just shook his head as his parents' silly comedy routine, not knowing the significance of the simple phrase._

Milt smiled at the memory as he drove the truck along. He never did get to tell Tommy the meaning behind the 'move it or lose it' comment. He had shared it with McCormick though, a few months back, and the kid seemed to enjoy the story. Thinking of that made him sigh. As much as he wanted his rehabilitation plan with McCormick to work, he never did plan on the kid worming into his heart the way he had. He knew that Tommy and McCormick were two decidedly different individuals, and he never really compared one to the other, but he could not seem to separate himself from adopting the same kind of fatherly type feeling toward McCormick, much as he had tried early on. Now, he just took it for granted; hell, he really liked it. He wasn't kidding himself or McCormick about that reaction. They both knew it, just never talked about it. It was something he obviously missed and needed in his life, but he'd never dare admit that out loud. The kid made him feel alive, just like Tommy had done. Caring about people though, that carried a big price, especially when it came to losing someone you cared about. Milt Hardcastle knew that all too well, with both Tommy and Nancy. He had a hard time talking about his son to McCormick, and he knew the kid respected that for he never brought the subject up, even though he most certainly had questions. He remembered the stare that McCormick gave him when Joe Cadillac had mentioned Tommy being killed in Vietnam. The whole conversation had made Milt angry; hearing Tommy's memory being mentioned by someone like Cadillac was bad enough, but having the secret slip out to McCormick's ears like that... well, that was just plain uncomfortable under Milt's collar. He remembered that after Cadillac had left, McCormick tried to ask him about Tommy, and Milt had glossed over it with a few terse words that showed it was a very sore subject. The kid had backed off right away, and that impressed Milt no end. It might have even been right there that Milt had unconsciously made a permanent decision about McCormick. He hadn't forgotten what he said to Mark:_ "You're not a replacement, if that's what _

_you're thinking."_ The kid _wasn't_ a replacement...that was the truth. He had staked his own claim in Milt's heart right then and there. And now, it made looking into this murder of Ellie Warren even harder. But he just couldn't share it with McCormick; this problem had to do with Tommy's past.

Milt went back to recalling Ellie Warren. In 1972, when Tommy had died in Vietnam, she was still working on her graduate degree at Berkeley. She came home for the funeral and was very upset by the whole ordeal. Hardcastle remembered that her parents actually had to physically remove her from the prayer service at the gravesite because she was so traumatized by his passing. Her outburst was upsetting to everyone, especially Nancy. It was nearly a month later that Ellie came and visited with Nancy and Milt and apologized over and over for her emotional reaction. Of course they forgave her, they more than understood why she was upset. They knew how close she and Tommy had been for so many years and how upsetting it could be. There was really nothing to forgive; it was just something that happened.

After that he saw her sporadically over the passing years; at Nancy's funeral, once in court when she testified against an employee of hers who was embezzling from the bank she worked at and, most recently, at the supermarket. He couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she did have some romantic interest toward Tommy, since she had never married. They both had been so young...maybe Tommy just didn't realize how she felt about him. He always insisted they were solely friends.

Hardcastle shook his head in despair as he parked the truck and went inside the police station.

OOOOO

"That's right, Milt...Ellie Warren was 36 years old, born and raised right here, never married," Frank Harper said, sitting down behind his desk.

"Then she has to be the same one," Hardcastle commented.

"The same one as what?"

"Aw, I knew her when she was a kid," the Judge replied.

Harper nodded and continued, "No siblings, and parents are deceased. What a shame. She was a successful businesswoman by all the accounts. When's the last time you saw her?"

Milt was lost in memories. "I ran into her at a grocery store probably two, maybe three years ago. She had just finished up a second doctorate degree. She was a beautiful woman," he said, looking at another picture of her. "Any leads on suspects?"

"Not yet, the coroner is still trying to tie up some pieces for us. Whoever did it was pretty brutal--she was a mess."

"That's a big apartment complex... no one heard or saw anything?" Hardcastle questioned.

"Not so far," Frank said. "Someone purposely had the lights in the parking lot conveniently off."

"So, ask the night watchman or the apartment manager."

"We're checking it all out, Milt...I promise." Frank defended the investigation team as he could see the Judge's anger rising.

"You should be going door to door on every apartment. Even if they're were no parking lot lights, someone still could have seen something or heard a commotion."

"Milt, seriously, we're tracking down every lead."

The Judge walked over and plucked off the morning newspaper off of Frank's desk. He stared at the picture of Ellie Warren. "This isn't right. Someone has to know something."

"Maybe you and Mark want to dig around yourselves?" Frank suggested. "I mean, since you knew her."

"No, the kid's got other stuff to do." Hardcastle laid out his answer in no uncertain terms.

Frank was a bit surprised by Milt's answer to keep McCormick out of it, but he smiled and jokingly asked, "When has mowing the lawn ever stopped you guys from horning in on a case?"

The Judge dropped the paper and glared at the cop. "I said 'no', Frank, and that's it. McCormick's got plenty to keep him busy."

Frank was a bit surprised by Milt's pointed response so he backed off and tried to lighten up the mood in the office. "I get it; you're going to snoop around solo on this one, huh?"

"I told you I knew her...how's that 'snooping'?"

"Should I get you a badge and swear you in?"

"Oh, very funny, Frank. It's your case. I just wanted to know if she was the same girl I knew, and I won't get in anyone's way, and I'll give you anything I find out," Hardcastle added as he made his way toward the door. "But I'm not going to 'snoop around', got it?"

Frank lifted up his hand and waved it as if to say 'yeah, yeah, okay' and 'goodbye' all in one motion. He couldn't help but wonder why Milt didn't want to involve McCormick in this one.

OOOOO

Matt Soens called Hardcastle two days later and asked if he could take the Judge out to dinner. Hardcastle obliged and went out to the front yard to tell McCormick he was going out again. Mark was getting to the point that he actually didn't care any longer about the secret outings, resigning himself to the fact that the Judge wanted some privacy for whatever reason. He was almost tempted to tell the jurist that he didn't need to keep coming up with big projects to keep Mark occupied either. He got the message loud and clear--Hardcastle wanted to be alone. McCormick didn't like it, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Before he could say anything, the Judge thrust a $20 bill at him. "So... here's some cash for a couple of pizzas or whatever you might want for dinner."

"Judge, I don't want your guilt money. I'm not gonna starve, okay? Just go and do whatever it is you want to do," McCormick responded, raking up some mulch in a flowerbed.

"It's not guilt money. There's not much in the fridge...just take this, because you might need to stop at the grocery store." Hardcastle still held out the money.

Mark reluctantly took it from him. He was tired of arguing, because that only led to wanting to know where the Judge was going and why didn't he want McCormick along for the assist. "Did you start a list yet?"

"I think there's a couple of things up on the 'fridge door notepad , but get whatever you want," Hardcastle offered.

Mark nodded as he put the money in the pocket of his jeans. "Have a nice time tonight, Judge," he managed to add with a tinge of sincerity. Heck, maybe the guy was seeing a woman. He was entitled to some privacy when it came to a girlfriend.

"Thanks kiddo...you, too. In fact, why don't you knock off early, and take the night off?"

"I want to finish this, but I won't work all night, I promise."

OOOOO

Milt felt more than just a little uncomfortable at dinner with Matt. The first time they'd gotten together for pie and coffee, Matt was really talkative, but tonight, he didn't have too much to say, was avoiding eye contact and the Judge was getting tired of asking him questions.

"Well Matt, what are you doing to support yourself?" Hardcastle asked.

"Right now, I'm working as a cook downtown, at Rio's. But it's not full time, and I'm not even really sure if I like cooking as much as I thought I would. It's not like cooking for yourself, you know?"

"Did you go to trade school for that?"

"Yeah, for six months I did, plus I cooked in the Army for about six months when I was stateside. In 'Nam I was infantry, just like Tommy. People are pretty willing to hire a serviceman, so maybe something better will come along for me. I haven't really looked very hard."

Then the silence came between them until Milt asked him, "What part of town do you live in?"

"Oh, I'm still here in Malibu. This will always be home, you know?" Matt smiled, avoiding eye contact. An awkward moment of silence spread between them.

"Listen, Matt, is something bothering you tonight? You seem a bit distracted." There, the Judge had laid it all out on the table. There was no sense to beat around the bush.

"No, nothing is bothering me. It's just nice to be back home. I just want to pick up where I left off, you know, with friends." Hardcastle thought that was sort of an odd statement and was trying to think of something to say in response when Matt continued to talk. "Tommy, he was a great kid. He liked everyone; he was a friend to everyone."

Milt didn't really want to turn these meetings with Matt into discussions about Tommy. He really wasn't comfortable talking about his son to anyone. "You must have some other friends still in the area, huh?"

"Not too many... it seems like they've all moved away, or passed away." Matt had a touch of sadness in his voice.

Now it was Hardcastle's turn to look away. This conversation was getting very uncomfortable. There was a part of him that actually wished McCormick was there, just so that he could leave, yet he knew that it would be mean to dump off this problem on the kid. "Sounds like you need a hobby or something to help you get out and meet some new people."

Matt all but ignored the comment. He was lost in his memories again. "I remember one of the beach parties that Tommy had that last summer. I didn't know anyone there but him. And he took me all around and introduced me to everyone. I couldn't get over how many people he knew, and he acted like he was everyone's best friend. The girls all loved him--he could have had any one of them." He laughed, thinking about it.

Hardcastle listened and watched Matt for a few moments until he got transfixed into his own memory about that particular party.

"_Is he going to do this every night from now 'til he leaves?" Milt Hardcastle walked into the kitchen to see his wife happily making up some sandwiches._

"_I hope so," she said with a pleasant smile._

_Milt grabbed one of the sandwiches off the plate. "This is costing me a fortune," he paused, "and this is a good sandwich. And just what do you mean you 'hope so'?"_

"_If he's here, then we get to see him... and you better believe it, Milton C. Hardcastle, that I am going to enjoy every minute__of his presence around here. I don't care how much it costs."_

"_I just wish he'd trim down his guest list. There's kids I've never seen before out there. And I thought Ellie was up at Berkeley already?" he asked his wife._

"_She was, but she came home for the weekend. The Warren's bought her a car," Nancy explained._

"_A car? I guess I should have gone to medical school rather than law school. Dr. and Mrs. Warren bought their 18-year old daughter a car? Pretty soon parents will be buying kids cars when they're still in high school, when they could just as easily walk to school or take a bus. Ha!" he laughed._

_Just then Tommy Hardcastle walked in with Matt Soens. "Great, you've got more food! Thanks Mom, you're the best," he said as he hugged his mother from behind._

"_Yeah, you guys know you won't get this sort of chow in the Army, right?" Milt said._

"_That's why we're stocking up now, Dad," Tommy said, patting his own stomach._

"_How bad is the food, sir?" Matt asked Milt._

"_Did you ever eat cardboard, son?" Hardcastle asked as he saw the blank look on Matt's face. "Yep, it's worse than that. See what you have to look forward to?"_

"_It's just another reason why war is hell, right__ Pop?" Tommy tossed out._

"_It's not a picnic-- that's for sure," Hardcastle said._

_Ellie Warren came bouncing into the kitchen. "Oh, so this__is where all the good looking men are, huh?" she said, glancing over at Tommy and Matt. "I thought you deserted your own party, Tommy," she added._

"_Who, __me__? Not a chance...just ordering up the reinforcements." He picked up the tray of food and started to head out._

_Milt had been watching Matt, who was eyeing up Ellie Warren and the swimsuit she was wearing._

"_Hi ,Ellie," Matt said._

"_Hi," she answered, hardly noticing him at all. "Mrs. Hardcastle, is there anything I can help you with? I'd be glad to do up the dishes or anything?" _

_Matt chimed in, "Me, too... I'll help." He obviously said it to stay close to Ellie._

"_No, everything's under control. You kids go have a good time, enjoy yourselves, and let me know if you need anything else," Nancy said._

_Ellie and Matt followed Tommy out the back door. Matt and Ellie walked together while Tommy ran ahead with the tray of food. Milt stood at the kitchen window and watched. "That Matt sure has it bad for Ellie," he commented to his wife._

"_Yep, and she has eyes for your son," Nancy answered back._

"_Oh come on, Ellie and Tommy? I've never noticed that. They're like brother and sister; they've known each other since forever. They're just friends."_

"_Milt, a mother knows these things. I'm telling you, she would marry Tommy in a heartbeat, but he's not interested in her the way she is in him." Nancy came up alongside of him and kissed his cheek._

"_I think you're crazy. In fact, I think you're all crazy--you and all those kids."_

"What do you think, Judge? I'm betting there were close to thirty kids at your house that day." Matt was saying.

"What? Hmm?" Milt said.

"That last party Tommy had. Your house was full of kids."

Milt nodded and then paused before he commented, "That's some sad news about Ellie Warren, huh?"

"Who?" Matt asked.

"Ellie Warren, she lived in the house just down the way from us. You met her at my house, probably. Didn't you read about her? It's been in the papers."

Matt looked away again, "I don't recall her. I don't think I met her. What happened?"

"Someone murdered her a few days back. She was just a few feet from her apartment. It's been on the TV, too," Milt added.

"I didn't know that. I don't read the paper anymore. She was a friend of Tommy's, huh?"

"Yeah, they grew up together. They were like brother and sister. I'm sure you must have met her that summer. Those two were just about joined at the hip."

"I don't remember Judge, but like I said, there were always a lot of kids at your house when Tommy was around."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." Milt stood up from the table. "I better be getting home myself, you know; make sure it's standing and all. It was nice seeing you again, Matt...take care of yourself."

"I'm trying, Judge. Thanks for having dinner with me. I really do miss those old days."

The two men shook hands and departed the restaurant. Hardcastle had a lot of questions on his mind.

OOOOOO

McCormick was busy stuffing his face with ice cream and watching TV in the Judge's den when Hardcastle came in.

"Hi ya, Judge...how was your dinner?" he asked with a grin.

Hardcastle just sort of mumbled, going over to his desk and pulling out a set of keys. "It was okay," he finally replied.

Mark wondered at the jurist's mood. Taking another spoonful of ice cream, he decided to ask, "Is anything wrong, Judge?"

"No, nothing's wrong," the older man said, finally finding the key he wanted. He exited the room and headed up the stairs.

Mark went back to eating and watching TV. A few minutes later Hardcastle came back down carrying what appeared to be a stack of letters. He dropped them on his desk, put the keys away, and started reading the top letter. McCormick couldn't help but wonder what this all was about. Maybe Jane Bigelow was back in his life. He was surprised Hardcase kept love letters around though, if indeed if that's what they were.

Milt stopped for a second and looked over at McCormick who was laughing at Three's Company. For a split second he thought about opening up and telling the kid everything, but he stopped himself.

"Did you eat more than ice cream?" the Judge asked instead, sounding every bit like a father.

"Yeah, I got a pizza. There's some leftover in the kitchen...do you want it?"

"Pizza and ice cream, sheesh, what are you, 16? There are other food groups, McCormick. And no, I don't want anything. I'm fine."

Mark turned and saw Milt had gone back to reading the letters. Whatever the older man was up to, it seemed important to him, and suddenly McCormick felt like he needed to give an adult response to the Judge instead of his usual smart-mouth comments. "I picked up some normal food at the grocery store too...it's all put away. And I put the new mulch in all the flower gardens, just like you wanted. I made sure I didn't get any on the grass either. I know how you hate that."

Hardcastle knew exactly what the kid was doing and he really did appreciate it the job he'd been doing. "Did you get some eggs?"

"Yep."

"Great, then I can make omelets for breakfast tomorrow. I appreciate all the work you've been doing around here. Everything looks great. You like omelets, right?"

Now it was McCormick's turn to know exactly what Hardcastle was up to. Mark had already made up his mind not to pry. He didn't need an omelet bribe for him to do what he was hired to do. If the Judge wanted to tell him what was going on, he could and would in his own time and his own way. He just hoped he wasn't getting himself into any trouble. Mark took the safe road for an answer. "Yeah, I love omelets," he responded. "But you don't have to go to any trouble...it's just breakfast."

"Breakfast just happens to be the most important meal of the day, and I want to do it, so it's no trouble."

"Okay, it sounds really good. I'll get up early." McCormick smiled and went back to watching TV. Hardcastle watched him for a few more minutes and his mind wandered back again to Tommy.

"_You know you won't be able to make me omelets for too much longer, Pop," Tommy had said one rainy Sunday morning._

"_Listen, you won't be in Vietnam forever," Milt replied._

"_Don't tell Mom, but your omelets are better than hers," Tommy laughed._

"_Why do you think I do the cooking on Sunday mornings?" Milt fired back with a smirk. "We gotta eat right at least one day a week."_

"_I might get a few days of leave after basic training. Maybe I'll get to have another omelet then."_

"_If you do, I'll get up and fix you one every morning you're here. That's a promise."_

"_Dad, you don't have to do all this—like spoiling me this way, okay? Don't get me wrong; I actually sort of like it, but it's not you and it just doesn't feel right." He paused and then continued, "Lot's of guys go to war and lots of them come back home. I'll be all right. Just keep treating me like you always do. I need __that__--not the omelets."_

"_Why can't I do both, huh?" Milt asked him._

_Tommy rolled his eyes, "Did you see the job I did with the mulch? You should still be yelling at me for that. There's more in the grass than in the flowerbeds. I'm gonna fix it up today. I shouldn't have even started it yesterday, 'cause I wasn't giving it my best effort."_

"_See, that's why I don't yell anymore. You know the difference between what's right and what's wrong. I don't need to get onto you about things any more. You're all grown up. A man now." Hardcastle sniffed hard to keep the emotion he was feeling in check._

"_But you're still my Dad," Tommy had replied. "I imagine you'll always be yelling at me. That's how it's supposed to be."_

"That's not how it's supposed to be," Hardcastle mumbled under his breath. He forgot that Mark was still in the room.

"What?" McCormick asked turning his attention away from the TV.

"Nothing," Milt said. "I'm going upstairs to do some reading. I'll see you in the morning. Don't forget, I'm making omelets."

Mark nodded and said, "Goodnight, Judge...see you in the morning." He made up his mind to call Frank Harper in the morning and ask a few questions of his own...like, was the Judge involved in the Ellie Warren case?

OOOOO

After the delicious breakfast, McCormick mentioned that he had a few errands to run before he started his work on the estate for the day. The Judge didn't give the comment much thought and just nodded as Mark headed out of the kitchen and made his way toward the Coyote.

Frank Harper's office was humming and cops were going in and out every few seconds. Mark hated to interrupt, so he patiently waited until it appeared that things had calmed down before he politely knocked on the Lieutenant's door.

"Hey Mark, what's up?" Frank looked up from the mound of paperwork and motioned for him to come in. "Where's Milt?" Frank glanced around nonchalantly. He'd been waiting for McCormick to show up on his own and start asking questions for days now.

"Uh, he's back at Gull's Way, but he's been acting sorta weird lately, and I wanted to talk with you for a few minutes."

"Sure, but it's gotta be quick. We're really trying to figure out this Ellie Warren murder. There's a lot of leads to track down," Harper explained.

"Is Hardcase working on that too, Frank? The Ellie Warren murder, I mean." There it was--Mark had gotten the words out.

Frank continued to write on the paper he'd been looking at, trying to figure out how to keep Milt's request a secret. These two were getting way too good at knowing exactly what the other one was up to. The downside of it was when they did decide to go solo, he always got stuck right smack dab in the center. "Not that I'm aware of, Mark...why? You two digging around something?"

Mark shook his head no. "Not me, I've been on 'estate detail'. But Hardcastle's been running off by himself," he pouted. "I'm just sort of wondering what he's up to. I thought he stopped by to see you the other day."

"Uh, huh...and you think he knows something about this case and is keeping you in the dark?" Frank tried to act innocent.

"Well, yeah," Mark said softly. "I mean, he's been going out and not telling me where he's going; and if I ask him, he tells me to mind my own business and dumps more house chores onto me."

"Maybe he met a woman?" Harper offered with a quick laugh.

"I thought of that already, and okay, maybe, but why the big, deep secret? This is me, McCormick, the guy who separates his colors from his whites, you know? He could tell me he's dating. I wouldn't pry."

Frank had to laugh again. "Mark, I don't know what he's up to. I wish I could help you. If I see him, do you want me to ask?"

"Heck, no Frank! If he finds out I was here, I can guarantee that I'll never get through mowing the grass. You'll be reading about me in the paper: Man sentenced by lunatic Judge to life imprisonment of grounds keeping."

Harper smiled, "Sorry I couldn't help you out." He turned his attention back to the file on Ellie Warren.

Mark cocked his head to the side. "You got any leads on her yet? Is it a serial killer?"

"No, it's not a serial killer. You know you sound like that pack of reporters that's hanging around downstairs."

"It's just that it was so vicious, Frank, from what I've seen in the news."

Frank held out the folder to McCormick and sat back in his chair. "Take a look...maybe you can help."

"This is her file?" Mark asked.

"Yep, you knew a lot of weirdos inside--maybe something will jump out at you." Frank figured it wouldn't hurt anything, and if Milt was checking on something, he might need McCormick as backup, whether he wanted it or not. There was no reason Frank needed to keep the kid in the dark.

Mark opened the file and started reading through it. "The killer used a Vietnamese knife?" he asked. "I don't think I know anyone with that MO."

Frank nodded. "And then shot her eight times."

McCormick swallowed hard. "Sounds like a real grudge. It might be a Vet, huh?" He paused, "And no one heard eight shots?"

"We're thinking he used a silencer."

"That makes sense," Mark said. "It's a pretty upscale neighborhood for no one to have not heard something. Is anyone standing out yet as a suspect?"

"We're looking into a co-worker and also into someone she ordered some furniture from. Apparently there were a couple of arguments that a few people have come forward to tell us about. Her personal life is a little sketchy. Someone suggested she liked a lot of different men."

Mark continued to read through the file. "Boy, this lady was hugely successful, wasn't she?"

"Next in line to head up Oceanic Bank. I'd say so, Mark," Frank said.

"Let me think about it and see if anything clicks," Mark closed up the file and handed it back to Frank. "I better get back to the estate. Hardcastle will be missing me," he cracked, turning around in his chair and rising.

It was too late...Milt was standing there in the doorway. "This is the errand you had to make?"

"Uh, Judge... Hi. I didn't know you were coming here... heck, we could have saved some gas and driven together. Whaddya think?" Mark stood up quickly and pasted a cheesy smile on his face.

"How about I think you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?" Hardcastle fired back.

Mark looked to the cop for some help, but Harper had suddenly gone mute. "Judge, come on... I just stopped in to say hi to Frank. You've had me working so much, I miss seeing him...that's all."

Hardcastle put up his hand to tell him to stop. "I heard what the two of you were discussing, and we're not getting involved in it, understand?"

"Come on, Milt, we're just talking. It's on the TV and in the papers; he's a smart kid, he just figured he might could help," Frank finally chimed in.

"It's your case, Frank, not his. It's time we just let the police do their job," Milt replied sternly and then focused his eyes on McCormick. "And you have your job to do too...at Gull's Way."

McCormick didn't say anything as the sheepish smile faded from his face. For one thing, he didn't know what to say; and secondly, he knew that if he said anything, Milt would chomp his head off. He turned back toward the lieutenant. "Hope to see you again someday, Frank. Thanks for the chat." Mark walked out past the judge without saying a word.

Milt walked into the office and sat down across from Frank. "I told you I didn't want him involved," he said pointedly.

"What is the big deal? Besides, he came in here, I didn't call him up or anything. And I didn't say anything to him about you not wanting him involved. And in case you forgot, you told me you weren't involved either. So what's up? Did you stop in to give me some information?" Hardcastle didn't respond, he just sat there still glaring. Harper sighed and continued, "Your secret is safe with me, Milt, whatever your connection to this case is. But...just what exactly are you hiding, anyway?"

"Very funny, Frank--you think I'm a suspect?"

"No, I don't think you're a suspect, but the way you're acting, I'm starting to wonder just what's going on with you," Harper fired back. "Why do you want McCormick left in the dark? Why are you digging around with our investigation? What's your interest? Talk to me, Milt!"

"You know what—enough, already," the Judge griped, not willing to confess the private memories of the past. "I've only tried to help this department out. Maybe I'll just step back and let you do all the work." Hardcastle stood up to leave.

Frank took a deep breath. "Milt, sit down. I'll let you look at the file, too."

Hardcastle sat back down as Harper slid the papers across the table. Milt began to read them. The reference to the Vietnamese knife jumped out him, mostly because of one of Tommy's letters he had read from the night before.

_Dear Dad,_

_Can you believe it's already been six months already since I've been over here? We're on a little bit of an evening break right now, so while we actually have a light bulb overhead I thought I would try to get off a letter to you._

_We just saw some heavy fighting for the past four days. Two guys in our unit weren't so fortunate to be sharing our MRE's tonight._

_Can you believe that idiot Matt Soens actually attacked one of the VC's in hand-to-hand combat! The other guy pulled out a knife, but Matt was able to fight him off and ended up using the guy's own blade to kill him. Now he's got the knife as some sort of trophy or coup and is showing it off to everyone. He even left the guy's blood on it. I think Matt has a screw loose, Pop. He seems to really enjoy the killing, just for the sake of killing. He sure didn't seem like this back home or even in basic training, but I think I should have listened to you about him. Maybe you are a good judge of character after all...no wonder you're a judge! I'm trying to help him out, but he's got his own agenda._

_We're supposed to be transported later tonight to some ridge just north of where we're at. I'd tell you exactly where, but I lost the map I carried a couple of weeks ago, so I'm not sure where we are anyway. Plus, they'd probably cut it out of my mail anyway._

_How's the grass growing at Gull's Way? Did you find some schlep to do all your yard work yet or are you letting it go just so you can order me around for a few months when I get home? Maybe you should hire some prison labor or something, you know--start your own little chain gang? Ha, ha._

_Looks like we're packing up to move already, Pop. I better cut this short. If you see Ellie Warren, let her know it was a good thing she stayed away from Soens. Tell Mom I'll write her a letter very soon. Love to both of you, Tommy._

Milt recalled how quickly his son had scribbled the last few lines-- they were barely legible. The unit must have gotten the pack-up order in a hurry. It was the only letter he'd found so far in the stack that mentioned Matt Soens.

He suddenly remembered he was still sitting in Harper's office. Frank's voice jostled him out of his memory.

"I said...you got anything for me?" Frank was asking.

"No, not really. I heard you tell McCormick you had a couple of suspects, though?"

"Yep, one is a co-worker, they had a few beefs with each other in front of other employees, and he's a Vietnam Vet. The other is a furniture wholesaler who is part Vietnamese," Frank explained.

"That's it... just two? You're just tying suspects into the knife, huh?" Milt asked.

Frank nodded. "It's a good place to start, and it fits in with these two suspects. We're trying to see what we get...you know how it is. We're just piecing it all together. You sure you don't have something you want to tell me about?"

"Look, Frank, I said I knew her when she was a kid. That was a long time ago, you know. Maybe I just feel close to this one because of that, okay?"

"Sure, I understand," Frank replied.

"I better get back to the house and see what sort of trouble McCormick got into there." The Judge stood up and headed to the door.

"Milt, be nice to him, okay? I didn't let on that you knew this lady; and Mark...he's just worried about you, that's all. He thinks you're dating someone," Frank explained with a chuckle and saw that Hardcastle wasn't laughing back. "It's just that you're keeping him in the dark, and he's not used to that."

"Yeah, yeah," Milt waved him off and left.

OOOOO

The kid was aggressively attacking a section of a garden bed with a shovel when Hardcastle pulled up to the estate.

McCormick didn't bother to stop or even to look over, even though he had heard the truck drive up. He figured Hardcastle would be walking over to chastise him over going downtown to talk with Frank Harper. But the Judge did an about face and went into the house instead. That move made Mark stop his shoveling and watch the doorway. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why Hardcastle was suddenly being so tight-lipped.

Hardcastle went into the den and closed the door behind him. Pulling out a scrap of paper from his pocket, he proceeded to dial the phone number on it. While waiting for Soens to pick up, he thought about what he'd say to the young man, but after twelve rings decided to hang up. He dialed the phone company next and got the address that matched the number, then went back outside to the truck. Glancing over toward the still hard-working McCormick, he decided to walk over.

"You got those shrubs out already?"

Mark stopped for a few seconds and wiped his sweaty brow. "Not really, there's roots still down there pretty deep. I know you don't want them sprouting again." He went back to his digging.

Their dialogue was becoming more superficial by the second, and neither one of them liked it.

"Listen, I'm going out for awhile. Don't hold up dinner on my account; I'm not sure how long I'll be," Hardcastle said, not even attempting to keep eye contact.

"No problem, I'm getting used to that. I might go out for awhile by myself," Mark answered with a tinge of anger in his voice.

"With friends?" Milt asked.

"Not sure yet." McCormick paused, "what about you?"

Hardcastle ignored the question. "I've just got a few stops to make, but I can grab a burger or something." Milt looked him in the eye now. "Don't do anything stupid, kiddo."

"I could say the same thing to you, Judge."

OOOOO

Soens was not at his house when Hardcastle arrived. The Judge went back out to his truck and waited impatiently for him to show up, but gave up after several hours. Rather than waiting any longer, he went to down to his old stomping grounds, the judicial building, and talked his old friend Judge Winters into letting him use his office and telephone for awhile, giving him a sketchy outline of the Warren case.

His first call, with Winters' help on a warrant, was to the VA Hospital in Sacramento to get Matt Soens' medical records released for his inspection. Milt next contacted Jon McGee, one of Tommy's friends from high school. Jon was a lawyer and was running for a Municipal Judge position in the upcoming election. Hardcastle hoped he could fill in some blanks about Soens' background. When McGee's secretary answered the phone, the Judge explained who he was and asked if he could see Jon for a short meeting. Finding out that McGee's afternoon court case had been cancelled, Milt drove over to his office.

OOOOO

In the meantime, McCormick quickly made work of the remaining shrub roots, grabbed a quick shower, and decided to go off and check out for himself the two suspects that Frank had told him about. Deep down in his gut, he knew Hardcastle was up to something when it came to the Ellie Warren murder. He knew he'd have to avoid running into Hardcastle, so he would just need to be extra diligent in looking out for the pick-up as he ran down the leads himself. He didn't realize Hardcastle was in his own world, tracking down Matt Soens, and there'd be no chance that they'd connect.

McCormick had memorized the names and addresses of the two suspects. The bank employee's name was Gordon Andrews and he lived out in Pasadena. The furniture salesman's name was Mike Chen and he lived upstairs from his family's import business in the downtown furniture district. Mark decided to head out to Pasadena first.

Mark pulled up the street from Andrews' house and watched him as he was out front playing football with some kids. He thought back to what he read about Andrews in Harper's file. He was about 40 years old, married, and had served in Vietnam with the rank of Captain. He had been there two tours and was about to hitch up for a third when the unit he led was caught in a firefight in which five others perished. Gordon was burned on thirty percent of his body and received an honorable discharge. He had been awarded the Purple Heart for saving the lives of two of his men. McCormick wondered if his legs had been burned as he seemed to be hobbling, something a bit unusual for a 40-year-old man. As he sat and watched Andrews, he began to think that it was less and less likely that the man had anything to do with killing Ellie Warren. He decided to check on Mike Chen instead and, if nothing came from that, he'd stop at Oceanic Bank and see what he could dig up on Gordon Andrews downtown.

OOOOO

"So you're going the same way your old man did, huh, Jon? Running for a municipal post?" Milt said, shaking the hand of his son's high school chum.

Jon nodded his head and put both hands around Hardcastle's. "Yeah, you know, there's a bit of a politician in us McGee's."

"Well, you know you have my vote, right?" Milt patted him on the back.

"Thanks, Judge, that really means a lot to me. I have a great deal of respect for the work you've done on the bench. I only hope that I can serve in the same capacity," the younger man commented as they walked down the hall to his office. "It's probably been what...about five years since I've seen you, huh, Judge? Did you come all the way down here just to tell me that I have your vote?" Jon kidded, letting out a big-barreled laugh as he they entered his office, reminding Milt of McGee's father Burt.

"That's not the only reason, Jon," Hardcastle answered, taking a seat.

"Then what can I do for you, Judge?" McGee asked.

"I'll get right into it. Do you remember a kid named Matt Soens?"

"Sure, he and Tommy joined up at the same time. I met him that summer after we graduated high school. Didn't he and Tommy meet at the enlistment meeting?" Milt nodded yes as Jon kept talking, "He was kind of a weird guy as I recall."

"Can you tell me anything you might remember about him?"

Jon scratched the back of his head, "That was a long time ago. Why are you interested in him?"

"He called me up a few weeks back; he's been up in Sacramento at the VA for quite a few years, and I just get the feeling that maybe he needs some more help. He might have some psychological wounds, you know?"

"Is he in some sort of trouble?" McGee asked.

"I don't think so. I guess I just want to help him before he does do something. Aw, I don't know, Jon...it's just a feeling I have, so I thought I'd check with some of Tommy's old friends about him. I can't explain it other than to say that."

"I think I know what you mean. He had a hard time getting along with people. He was nice enough, but just sort of strange. He really had a hard time with the girls especially; he seemed pretty awkward. We all were awkward then, I guess," Jon commented. "But, that was years ago. You and that new kid you got working for you are checking him out? My Dad was telling me about your retirement project. He said the kid is pretty sharp. I think they met a few months back."

The Judge briefly smiled as he paused to think of McCormick. "Yeah, he is sharp, but we're not working on anything. Like I said, I met up with Soens and he just seemed off to me. If he needs some help, I'd like to get him some, that's all."

"I understand. I'm just not sure how much I remember about him. We were all a bunch of loose cannons that summer. Half of us going to college in the fall, and the other half going off to war, and we were all just a bunch of goofy kids. It was just nuts. We did a lot of stupid stuff that didn't make a whole lot of sense."

"Anything you can remember?" Milt pressed.

McGee scratched the top of his head. "He talked a lot about killing the Viet Cong that summer. I mean, they hadn't even gone to basic training yet, but he was just gung ho for getting out there and killing the enemy. I remember Luke used to get him all riled up about killing. At least that's what I thought it was about. It could have been about a girl, I don't know. I came into it late when he and Luke tangled down on Seagull Beach one night; Tommy and I had to pull them apart. And it was a good thing we did, 'cause Soens had a knife on him. It was only a pocketknife, but he was going for it when Tommy yanked him off. But none of us blamed Matt; you know how Luke was... still is... he always knew the buttons to push on anyone. I think he even made Tommy mad that night with his comments, 'cause it was a few days before Luke and Tommy finally started talking to each other again."

"Do you remember anything else about Soens?" Hardcastle questioned.

Jon laughed again, "He wanted to have a girlfriend so badly. I think he went after any one in a skirt. They all just laughed about him...I remember that."

"Was there anyone in particular?"

Jon shook his head no, "Not really. I think he just wanted to...uh, well, you know..." he cleared his throat, "'sow his oats' so to speak before he went half way around the world. But I think all the girls said no to him, because they knew what he was after."

OOOOO

McCormick drove up to the furniture outlet warehouse. It was a rather non-descript, four-story brick building with a simple sign over the doorway that read 'Furniture'. There was no parking anywhere near the structure, so he drove around the area and found an open spot about four blocks away. He parked and then began to walk back towards the warehouse. When he arrived at the building, he pulled the door open and went inside. In a matter of seconds, a middle-aged woman came up to him and asked if he needed help in looking for anything in particular. When he told her that he was looking for Mike Chen, her pleasant attitude changed almost instantaneously. She told him to wait there and disappeared into the wall-to-wall glut of furniture.

A few minutes later, a young man in his early twenties approached him. "I'm Mike Chen...you were looking for me?"

"Uh, yeah, my name's Mark McCormick, nice to meet you." McCormick saw the middle-aged woman now standing off in the distance and couldn't help but notice her stare.

Mike Chen saw it too, "Don't worry about her--she hates it when customers come in here and ask for me. She thinks she's entitled to all the commissions just because she stands at the door and waits to pounce on people." Chen laughed. "Now, how can I help you?"

Mark gave him a smile. "I have some questions I'd like to ask you," he began.

"Questions? Did you already buy something from me? Are you having some problems with it? If you still have the receipt, we can fix whatever the problem may be," Chen said pleasantly.

"No, that's not exactly it."

"Well, what then?" Mike was getting impatient. Several more customers had entered the store, and he obviously was solely interested in making his commission.

"Is this your business?"

Mike got defensive. "Mine and my Dad's, why? Are you a cop or something? Immigration? We're both here legally."

"Is your Dad's name Mike, too?" Mark asked.

"No, but we both go by Mike, just to make things easier. Is it my Dad you want?"

"I'm not quite sure... is he around?"

Mike Chen was getting more annoyed by the second. "Look, what exactly do you want? Are you a customer or what?"

McCormick was just about to try to explain when an older Vietnamese man came toward the two of them and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Mike, what's going on here?"

"I'm not sure, Pop. This guy wants to talk to both of us, I guess."

The older man held out his hand to Mark. "I'm Mike Chen Sr., how can we help you?"

"I'm a friend of Ellie Warren, my name is Mark McCormick." Mark barely got the words out of his mouth when the elder Chen interrupted.

"We told the police everything we knew. It was just a bad experience over some imported furniture. We had nothing to do with her murder."

"According to the police report, you had her physically removed from your outlet store."

"She started screaming at my clerk and we had other customers in here at the time. We offered her the money back, but she didn't want to hear any of it," Chen Sr., explained. "I'm not sure she was willing to compromise or listen to anything. She kept arguing with my staff for several minutes until my son escorted her out. We were all traumatized by it. There was one other customer who even tried to mediate, a gentleman, but he just seemed to make her even more upset."

"Can you describe him?" Mark asked.

"Look, we told the police all the information. How do we know you're a friend of hers, anyway?" Chen Jr. asked crossly. "Maybe you killed her."

Mark cleared his throat. "I'm just trying to find out what happened to her, you must understand that. You know she was killed with a Vietnamese knife?"

"Yes, we know that, we know that's why we're suspects," Chen Sr. said. "But we did not harm that woman in any way. You should find that man, she ran out of here when he arrived. Ask the police."

McCormick knew he wasn't getting anywhere with the two of them. "Did you see her after that?" he asked. "Did she call or stop back in?"

"No," Chen Sr. replied, "but I already answered the police questions. I'm not sure I have to answer yours." He started to walk away, pulling his son with him.

"Mr. Chen, I'm just trying to find some answers, that's all."

"Talk to the police, Mr. McCormick, that is the best we can do." Both of the Chen's walked away leaving Mark standing alone. A few feet away, Chen Jr. turned back to give him a quick stare. Mark immediately got the impression that the young man knew more than he was telling.

As McCormick began the rather long trek to his car, he didn't notice the three figures that had begun to follow him. They quickly slid dark ski masks over their faces and quickened their pace, grabbing hold of him and dragging him into a nearby alley. Mark tried to get loose by kicking and punching but couldn't break their tight grip. The attackers delivered a couple of hard-hitting body blows to his midsection, knocking the wind out of him. As he started to gasp for air and collapse to the ground, two of the men pulled him up by the arms while the third one delivered some uppercuts to his face then stepped back, pulling out an intricately carved knife and holding it against Mark's throat. Speaking through the muffled tone of the ski mask, he uttered the one word, "Understand?"

McCormick nodded and the third man put the knife into his pocket. He turned and aimed a kick into Mark's midsection just as a black and white unit came flying around into the alley. The two men dropped the hold they had on Mark and the three thugs scattered in opposite directions. By the time the two patrol cops got out of the car, Mark was starting to get to his feet. One of the cops stayed with him while the other went back into his car and began to pursue the suspects.

"Are you all right, sir?" Officer Webster asked Mark, helping to his feet. "We were waved down a block or so back by a passerby who had heard a fight going on."

"Thanks, Officer," Mark managed to gasp, still trying to fill his lungs with air.

"What did you do to them?"

"Me? Nothing, I was just inside the Furniture Outlet, looking for a futon," McCormick answered quickly. "I'm the victim here, remember?"

"Well, maybe they just wanted to rob you," Officer Webster said. "Let me just get your name and ask you some questions. Do you think you need to go to the hospital? I can call an ambulance and have you get checked out."

"Uh, no," Mark said, lifting his hand up to his face to see if his nose was broken. "Listen, I'll be okay. I don't really want to file a report or anything. You know...no harm, no foul."

Officer Webster was a bit befuddled. "Sir, really, you should file an assault report. You never know, we may catch them. Now, what's your name?"

McCormick really didn't want to file a police report, but he didn't want Officer Webster or his partner thinking he was somehow involved in anything either, and chances were they'd notice his car as he drove away--the bright red firecracker with the customized plates would be very easy to identify. It was the proverbial rock and hard place. He reluctantly gave Webster his name and as little information as he could. He didn't mention Mike Chen Jr., even though he had clearly recognized him under the ski mask as the one with the knife. After a few questions, he was free to leave. The other officer had returned with no luck in finding any of the suspects.

McCormick made his way back to the Coyote and gently eased himself into the two-seater. He thought about going back to Gull's Way right away, but he knew whenever he did arrive at home, the police report would precede his arrival. Hardcastle had contacts everywhere and the mere mention of one Mark McCormick being involved in any sort of incident, right side or not, would mean someone would call up the Judge and inform him of all the pertinent details.

He drove around the downtown area for a while then stopped and got himself some lunch. After that, he leisurely drove back to the estate.

McCormick had been right--he had barely pushed himself through the window of the Coyote when the Judge was out on the front porch of the house beckoning his presence inside. This was not going to have a pleasant ending.

"Get inside right now, McCormick!" Hardcastle bellowed from the doorway.

Mark closed his eyes for a second and tried to take a deep breath. He knew he couldn't hide anything, especially with the black eye forming.

The Judge had already gone inside and planted himself behind his desk. Mark walked in as quietly as possible, there was no need for both of them to have a shouting match. That wasn't going to solve anything.

Mark entered the den and before his foot touched the first step Hardcastle started to yell. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out, McCormick?"

"Let's see, I could go with 'find out about what?', Judge. Or maybe I'll just remind you that I was the victim, not the suspect for a change. Maybe you didn't read that part of the police report."

"You got an answer for everything, don't you?" Milt retorted.

Mark managed to keep silent.

"Cute, McCormick," the Judge responded, then added in a less abusive tone, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. You hurt me worse with that right elbow you always throw at me on the basketball court."

"You don't look so fine," Milt nodded his head in the direction of the kid's face.

"I'll put some ice on it later, when you're through yelling at me." McCormick plunked himself down in one of the leather chairs. "Go ahead, get it out of your system."

"I know exactly what you were doing down there, you know," the Judge commented.

"What do you mean? I was picking out a new futon for the Gatehouse, I thought I'd dress up the place a little." Mark glanced over to Hardcastle, whose stoic expression hadn't changed. "Okay, I know you know-- that's why this is all so stupid. Why don't you just let me help you?"

"It's not stupid. I asked you to stay out of it. Do you understand what that means? And more importantly, I don't need any help, because I'm not working on this case."

"Judge, I'm sorry, I can't stay out of it. It's affecting you, so in turn it's affecting me. You can't just keep heaping house projects on me while you go off on some solo crime-fighting case. I don't know your whole hang-up on this thing, but if solving this woman's murder is going to get you off my back, then that's what I have to do," Mark explained.

"That's really dumb, McCormick. I could figure it all out myself if that's what I wanted to do. I don't need your help on this, because I'm not doing anything. Let the police handle it. Why can't you just understand and respect that?" The Judge's voice held a new level of emotion that McCormick hadn't heard before. It almost scared him. Milt quietly added, "Just stay out of it."

Mark didn't respond to his plea. He stood up from the chair. "I think you ought to look into Chen Jr. He's in Frank's file. He and some of his pals are the ones who worked me over."

"That wasn't in the police report," Hardcastle said, his tone slightly softer.

"No it wasn't, but I also told the cops I was looking at furniture at Chen's Warehouse, not investigating the murder of Ellie Warren. I thought maybe we, as in 'you and I', could check out Junior a little more."

"We're not checking anything, and you're staying out of this, remember?"

McCormick didn't answer, merely turning away and exiting the den.

OOOOO

Hardcastle went behind the desk and sat down, pulling out the stack of letters from the drawer. He sat staring blindly at the envelopes, lost in another memory.

"_What's eating__you?" Milt asked Tommy just after dinner. The Judge had been outside on the patio reading the evening paper when his son had come out and stood near the end of the pool._

"_Nothing's eating me, I just had dinner remember? I'm the one who did the eating." Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets._

"_Yeah, and you usually regale us with your daily activities. You were pretty quiet--are you sure nothing's up?"_

"_Nope, nothing's up. I've just been doing a lot of thinking."_

_Hardcastle got the impression his son wasn't going to say anything until he was good and ready, so he picked up the paper and started looking at the sports section._

"_Do you ever figure out what a gal is trying to tell you?" Tommy began._

"_That's one of the great mysteries of life, son," Milt said, smiling internally._

_Tommy let out a frustrated sigh. "Great, just great," he started. "I thought I was doing the right thing , but now I'm thinking I did the complete opposite."_

_Milt stifled another smile. "Well, what happened? You want to tell me?"_

"_Oh, nothing all that important. I guess I just stuck my nose in where I shouldn't have. It wasn't the first time and it won't be the last, I'm sure," the younger Hardcastle groused._

"_That's a good assumption." Milt knew the kid had obviously had his feelings tarnished so he decided not to interject too much, leaving most of the talking up to the boy--however much or little he actually wanted to do._

"_Why don't people just say what they mean? Instead of all the dancing around, you know. If you want to be friends, be friends; if you want something more than that or less than that, just say that, too!" Tommy's vague definition of the subject was apparent, but Milt was sharp enough to figure out there was some sort of spat going on between the sexes._

"_Tommy, I'm not sure if that was a question or not."_

"_I'm just blowing off steam, I guess. I'm sorry...I'm not making much sense," Tommy explained, sighing._

"_There's no need to apologize to me," the Judge said._

"_Aw, I don't have to apologize to anyone. I__didn't do anything wrong. Like I said, I thought I was helping out... you know, the 'damsel in distress' sort of thing."_

"_And you were the 'knight in shining armor'?" Milt had to laugh._

"_I thought I was, 'til I got hit from both sides, and I mean that in the literal sense," Tommy remarked._

"_You got into a fight?"_

"_Not really...mostly pushing and shoving. The face slap actually had more sting to it."_

"_Some gal slapped you in the face?"_

_Tommy nodded. "I swear it's the last time I play the role of the knight."_

_This time Milt laughed out loud. "Tommy, you're joining the Army in two weeks, you got a lot of knight role playing ahead of you. Just stay the way you are, son. You know right from wrong. You can trust yourself and your decisions."_

_Tommy looked over at his dad. "Aren't you even gonna ask me who these other people are?"_

"_Nope."_

_Tommy raised his eyebrows. "Mom wanted to know."_

"_Did you tell her?"_

"_I tell Mom just about everything," the young man chuckled._

"_Look, you're two weeks away from boot camp. You can defend whoever you want as well as deal with the consequences. If you don't play your own part, who's going to? If you want to tell me who it was, that's fine; if not, you're entitled to your privacy," the Judge responded._

_Tommy didn't say anything for a while, he just stared at the pool some more. Finally he walked over and sat down next to Hardcastle. "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate the trust you have in me. I know it's taken my lifetime to earn, and I'll do my best to make sure I always have it."_

_Milt cleared his throat and gave his son a little nod. "You want to play a game of one on one with your old man? I still can teach you a few things out there, you know?"_

Hardcastle's recalled the rather obscure conversation now. He wished Nancy was around to ask who the other people were, but his mind started putting two and two together to reach four, thanks to the information that Jon McGee had provided and the medical file that had arrived from Sacramento.

OOOOO

Several more days like this followed and McCormick's 'list' of chores was growing exponentially. And unlike past household projects, the newest additions were becoming lengthier in time and skill requirements. At this rate, Mark figured he'd have his plumbing and carpentry apprenticeships completed before the summer ended.

"Judge are you _nuts_?" McCormick walked from the kitchen to the den carrying the latest list of tasks in his hand.

"Why?" came the Judge's reply.

"You want me to remodel your upstairs bathroom? Do I suddenly look like Bob Vila from _This Old House_ to you?"

"Very funny, and here I thought the only program you watched on PBS was _Sesame Street_," the Judge retorted.

McCormick plopped down in one of the leather chairs. "Who do you think taught me how to install the new kitchen faucet, Judge? My next door cellie Crusher Moline or old Bob himself?"

"See there, you did a good job with the faucet on Monday. A new bathroom shouldn't be hard at all. I figure it'll take you a week, tops."

McCormick read the instructions from the list, "Let's see if I got this straight--I'm supposed to rip off all the tile on the walls and the floor, tear out the tub, shower, toilet and sink, fix the plumbing while the walls are exposed, install all new appliances, retile everything, and give the baseboards and lower walls a new coat of paint? That's more than a remodel; that's a whole new bathroom, Judge! Can't you call a contractor in for this?"

"Think of it as a challenge, kiddo."

"Judge, a challenge is winning a car race or solving a ten year old criminal case! What you're asking me to do is start a new career! 'Mark McCormick, builder of bathrooms'. It just doesn't have a good ring to it, face it."

"Well you sure know how to use them though, don't you? Between the three-hour showers you take and the constant flushing, my water bill is sky high. That's why you're installing a water-saver shower and toilet in there. I picked it all out and everything. You just need to go pick the stuff up at the store," Hardcastle ordered.

"Judge, this is a lot of work. I just don't want to do something wrong."

"Hey, I remodeled that bathroom myself about fifteen years ago. You should have seen what it looked like before then. This will be a piece of cake for you, kiddo."

"And what are you going to do while I'm up there ripping out ceramic tile and putting in a new shower?"

"I got a few things to do--some errands. I promise I'll stay out of your hair."

McCormick let some silence pass between them and then asked. "Judge, I know you're working on that case without me. Quit with the 'errand' bit, okay? It doesn't fit you."

"Who, me? I'm not working on anything without you--how many times do I need to tell you?"

"I don't know why you would, but that's how this is starting to feel," Mark said, waving the list of things to do.

"Ah, you're crazy. I just thought we both could stand a little break from the crime fighting. I thought you liked working around the house." Hardcastle was laying it on thick.

McCormick relented. "Well, I do... but Judge, this is a huge project. You're sure you want me to do this? I don't want to mess it up. It's your bathroom, you know?"

"You're not gonna mess it up; you do good work. I got all the confidence in the world in your remodeling abilities. Besides, there's another one I can use downstairs."

OOOOOO

So Mark went to work in the upstairs bathroom. The worst thing about having so many tasks to accomplish was that it gave him too much time to think.

McCormick couldn't figure out what was possibly bothering the retired jurist aside from the Ellie Warren case and maybe a new woman he was dating. They'd finished up the last case they were working on without much fanfare, aside from a brief car chase which resulted in a paint abrasion on the side of the Coyote. It didn't look all that bad and he'd probably let it go until the panel needed some major bodywork. Even though it was a little deeper than a scratch would normally be, he could put up with it and save a few bucks on his car insurance. But the Judge still was acting kind of weird. For a change neither one of them had been shot, beat up, or held hostage during the case. In the words of Hardcastle it was a simple case of 'catching the bad guy and putting him behind bars where he belonged'. Mark wished all the cases they worked on were that pain-free. Maybe that was what was bothering Milt--maybe he secretly had some sort of a death wish.

Mark grinned to himself at that thought, knowing it wasn't true. The Judge merely liked busting bad guys. But in the two years or so since he hooked up with Hardcase, McCormick already knew that by the time he reached Milt's age, he wouldn't want any part of chasing down criminals. Not like they were doing, anyway. He'd just as soon be content and happy having a beer in one hand and a pastrami sandwich in the other, just enjoying being retired.

This mood of the Judge's was really hard to figure out. Checking the calendar, Mark knew it wasn't an anniversary of sorts; there was nothing remotely close to anything that had to do with the Judge's wife or son; and he didn't think it had anything to do with Jane Bigelow either. He did know that the Judge was doing more than snapping at him or adding unneeded chores to the list, but he just couldn't figure it out. The thought passed through his head that maybe the Judge was having a medical crisis, but Milt hadn't complained about any aches or pains or been to see Charlie recently.

Mark was just plain stumped. It all seemed to stem from the death of that woman named Ellie Warren. But after their breakfast conversation about her on the first day, Milt hadn't even mentioned her again unless McCormick brought it up. McCormick thought about tailing the Judge, but in order to do that he'd have to go rent some other car and probably a disguise as well in order for Hardcastle not to spot him. The whole idea was too crazy. He sighed. He needed a plan.

OOOOOO

For most of the next day McCormick stayed in the upstairs bathroom, digging out the ceramic tile with a thin chisel. His arms and shoulders burned and ached and he had several nicks and lacerations on his hands, plus he was still bruised and battered from the Mike Chen incident. When the Judge did manage to come home, after being out for several hours, he was carrying a bag of burgers from the Burger Barn. Mark met him as he came wearily down the stairs on a work break. Hardcastle offered up the food as some sort of reward.

"Hey, sport, I brought us home some dinner," Milt began. "Neither one of us has to cook."

"Good, 'cause I'm wasn't planning on making anything. I'm not really even hungry. Judge, I'm beat. You haven't been making any sense for the last couple of weeks now, and you've had me busting out ceramic tile and moving dirt on this estate from one spot to another. I'm exhausted; every muscle in my body aches from the remodeling, lifting, shoveling, planting, carrying and cleaning. And I'm still trying to recoup from the beating." Mark lamented. "I'm done for the night--I'm going over to the Gatehouse. I've got an English paper due this week that I've got to get back to work on, then I'm off to bed."

Hardcastle didn't even try to stop Mark as he walked out the front door. He didn't know what to say to the kid. He knew he'd been riding Mark hard and that McCormick had completed every chore and then some. As he watched him head over to the Gatehouse, he could see Mark's shoulders slumped and the pep was gone from his step.

He knew it was time to tell the young man what he knew--he just needed to figure out how.

He went into the den to open his mail, when he spotted the file from the VA Hospital in Sacramento still lying on his desk. Undoing the wrapping on a hamburger, he held it in one hand while he re-read the report on Matt Soens.

OOOOO

Later that same evening Hardcastle's doorbell rang. He was in the midst of watching an old movie from the '40's and had been nearly dozing off. The bell jolted him awake, and he quickly got up to see who was stopping in for a visit at almost 10:30pm. He opened the door to see Christy Miller standing there.

"Christy?"

"Hi, Judge Hardcastle. I'm sorry it's so late, I was planning on surprising you a lot earlier this evening but my plane got delayed. I'm so sorry," she smiled.

"Nonsense, that's okay, come on in. You're welcome here anytime." He opened the doorway so she could step into the house. "I 'm just surprised to see you."

As she stepped inside the foyer she couldn't hold back the hug she had to give him. He was surprised by it momentarily, then accepted it and even managed to give her a quick hug in return.

"What's it been, Christy? About a year?" the Judge asked her.

She nodded. "You look great," she said.

"Oh, me? Yeah, I keep myself busy. I could stand to eat a little better, but all in all I feel good. Come on in," he said, leading her into the den area.

"I was supposed to be here at four this afternoon, but we had a layover in Chicago. Something was wrong with the plane, and they finally brought out a new one for us after hours of trying to fix it."

The Judge led the way and offered her a seat, as well as something to drink. She graciously sat down and asked for a glass of water, which he went to get for her. She observed various files and papers scattered around his desk. "Did I interrupt you from working?"

Hardcastle shrugged, "Yes and no, don't worry about it. It'll still be there in the morning."

"And where's..." Christy began, looking around questioningly.

"McCormick's in the Gatehouse," Hardcastle smiled at her apparent eagerness, remembering that the two younger people had gotten close in Clarence.

She warmly smiled, "I really did come to see both of you." She paused and added, "But actually I'm here on business. My company sent me out here for a quick conference, and I couldn't help but try to mix in a visit with some old friends."

Milt nodded his understanding and could see by her quick looks through the front window that she was anxious to see Mark. "Let me take you over there. Boy, will he be surprised. He doesn't know you're coming either, does he?"

"Nope, I wanted to surprise both of you." They both headed for the door. "You don't think he's asleep, do you?" Christy asked.

"McCormick? Not a chance; he stays awake 'til the wee hours of the morning most of the time," As they started down the path, he pointed, "See... the light's still on. He's awake." They arrived at the door and Hardcastle knocked on the door. "McCormick, you in there?"

"Judge, I'm trying to study! Whatta ya want?" Mark shouted through the door. "I'm not doing any more chores today. Tonto and Scout are bedded down for the night."

"It's a surprise...come and get the door, will ya?" Milt shouted back, turning to Christy and holding a finger to his lips to tell her not to say anything just yet.

They both heard the rumblings from inside the Gatehouse. Finally the door opened to reveal an angry Mark McCormick who started to say, "Nice judges are supposed to be in bed…" The anger quickly dissipated when he saw the young woman. "Christy?" he asked, his mouth hung open in shock.

"Hi, Mark. I'm glad you left the light on," she teased.

"Close your mouth, kid--at least for a while," the Judge smiled at Mark. "I'll leave you two alone for awhile." He turned to Christy, "When you two are finished getting 'caught' up, McCormick can bring you back to the house and we'll fix up a bedroom, okay?"

Mark nodded absently at Milt. Hardcastle knew he hadn't heard a word he'd said.

"Thank you, Judge. I'll see you tomorrow morning...maybe I can make you both breakfast?" Christy offered.

Hardcastle, already on his way back to the house, held up the back of his hand and waved.

"So...can I come in?" Christy asked with a smile, still standing in the doorway.

"Um...yeah," Mark shook out the cobwebs of surprise, "Sorry, of course, come on in." He let her pass by him into the Gatehouse. He got a quick whiff of her perfume and it began to intoxicate him. He followed behind her and noticed the clutter in the main room. "Uh, I apologize for the mess. I've been busy with some other projects for the Judge around here and have sort of let my space go." He quickly picked up some piles of clothes and a few old newspapers and tossed them off to the side in a corner. "You look fantastic!" he exclaimed.

"It's just like how you described it," she said, glancing around the surroundings. She turned back to face him. She could tell he was more than surprised to see her. "It's so good to see you, Mark," she said, taking a few steps toward him and giving him a hug.

He welcomed her immediately in the embrace as well. She smelled as good as ever as he turned his head toward her neck and face and relaxed in the hug. He was really glad he'd jumped in the shower after leaving the main house instead of putting it off until right before he was ready to go to bed. The clean scent left him very huggable.

Christy noticed right away too, "You just took a shower, huh?"

"Mmm, hmmm," he murmured. He wasn't quite thinking clearly and words eluded him for the moment.

"Your hair's still damp and you smell great." She pulled back and kissed his cheek.

That made him smile. He pulled back too and took her hand. "Why don't you sit down and we can catch up." They both moved toward the couch. "So what are you doing out here?" he asked.

"Business, mainly," she answered. "I'm supposed to go to a conference, but I really wanted to see you guys. I can't believe it's already been a year."

"Yeah," Mark shook his head in despair. "I should have flown back East to see you. I know I promised. I'm sorry about that."

"It all worked out now."

He grinned. "So you're gonna skip the conference?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet." Christy closed her eyes coyly as if to show her indecisiveness.

"Yes, you have--you're here, aren't you?" he teased.

"The conference doesn't start until tomorrow, wise guy," she remarked, poking him in the chest.

Mark nodded, "Sure, I get it--one of those register at one door and skip out on the other side of the room things, right?"

She raised her eyebrows at him and asked, "Have you been to one of these?"

"Me? No, but Hardcase has, and he told me that's what he always does. I figure if I get to be a bigwig executive someday, I'll do the same thing. I mean, if you got the power, you might as well use it--right?" He gave her the charming grin she remembered.

She glanced at the books and papers he had scattered on the coffee table, "So, what's all this?"

"Uh, that? Well, I'm taking a few college classes. I'm working on maybe getting a degree in my spare time, mainly thanks to Hardcastle. He convinced me that I could do it...and it's really not so bad. The teachers have been real understanding to an old guy like me," he explained.

She could tell he was now a little nervous; he was talking faster. "That's great , Mark--good for you!"

He continued on with his explanation. "Yeah, so between all of Hardcastle's many chores and chasing down bad guys, I'm supposed to be working on an English paper right now. It's due the day after tomorrow and I need to get it to one of my classmates in the morning. She said she'd type it on her computer for me, no charge. I just have to bring her a pizza as a payment of sorts."

"Sounds like a good deal... is she pretty?" Kristy teased.

"Nah, it's nothing like that; she just offered it to any of us in the class that didn't have a computer. I have about another page and a half to write, but I can do it first thing in the morning. I'll get up early to finish it. Right now, we have got some catching up to do." He grinned and asked, "Did I tell you look great?"

"Yep, you already did, but I like to hear it," Christy nodded. "Thank you."

"Seriously, you sure can pull off any look," he said. "Even the 'wearing your Dad's old fishing shirt,' look."

"And I didn't think you were paying attention when we were in the cabin," she chided him.

He laughed, "Are you kidding me? You and those legs of yours were all that was on my mind... well, after we got the stuff with the Judge all worked out."

She scooted closer to him on the couch. "I missed you."

He followed suit. "That goes for me, too."

They leaned in and locked in on a kiss. A year's worth of memories came flooding back to both of them.

They broke apart after awhile and managed to talk for a little bit and get reacquainted, picking up from where they'd left off back in Arkansas. It was coming up on 4 am when Christy , who had been telling Mark about one of her latest trips back to Clarence, turned and noticed that he had fallen asleep. He had told her about all the work he'd been doing around the estate, plus school, plus trying to figure out both the Ellie Warren murder and why Hardcastle was being so secretive. Now she understood why he had the remnants of a black eye. She knew he was tired, nearly exhausted; she could feel the weight of his head as it slowly pressed against her shoulder. She listened to the sound of his breathing as it slowed and became almost rhythmic and could tell he was out cold. It actually felt very comforting to her and she hated to wake him up, so she decided to close her eyes and get some rest herself.

OOOOOOO

Christy awoke around 6:30am and Mark was still asleep beside her. She carefully rose from the sofa so as not to awaken him and went into his kitchen. While she waited for the coffeepot to perk, she peered out of the small window looking out toward the front drive and was surprised to see Judge Hardcastle pulling away in his pick-up truck.

As she stood there and watched, Mark entered and wrapped his arms around her waist, giving her a soft and tender kiss on her neck. He then let his head and chin rest on her shoulder. "Will you ever accept my apology for falling asleep on you?" he begged. He trailed another line of kisses along her tender skin. "I really feel like an idiot. I'm sorry about that." He stopped talking and went back to planting kisses.

"Ah, maybe..." she breathed, "...if you keep doing that, mmmm." She smiled, leaning her head back to expose more of her neck for him. He obliged her request. After several seconds of this, she turned in his arms and they both sought out each other's lips. She pulled back after a minute or so, "I'm making some coffee," she said, and followed it with another kiss.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "I heard you come in here. You should have woken me up. I don't think I'm a very good host."

"No, it's my fault... I should have called you and told you I was coming, so you could have been expecting me, instead of me just turning everything upside down for you and the Judge. I don't know what I was thinking just to show up out of the blue like this."

He gave her a grin. "I'm glad you did. I could use a friend right now." He noticed the coffee was ready, so he took a step toward the cupboard and grabbed two mugs.

"I just saw the Judge drive away," Christy said. "Where does he go this early?"

"That's a very good question. I don't know." Mark shook his head. "He usually shoots baskets about this time every morning, but the last couple of weeks, it's just been like this; him driving away without telling me anything."

"That doesn't sound like him," she remarked.

McCormick took a deep breath, "I'm starting to think maybe this little arrangement he conjured up for the two of us is just about over. I'm trying to think if it was something I did or said, but I honestly can't come up with anything."

"You shouldn't blame yourself, Mark," Christy urged. "Maybe something's wrong with him--maybe he's sick, or it could be just something he needs to work out on his own. Did he ask you to leave?"

Mark shook his head, "No, I don't think he would, actually. I don't know... I just don't get it at all. I thought maybe it was a woman, but I think he'd be happy if he was dating someone. Then I thought it was this Ellie Warren thing, but he says he's not looking into it and the police don't think he's working on it either. It's something, though. I just can't for the life of me figure it out. It's frustrating."

She poured the coffee into the two mugs and they walked back into the living area. "So you've tried talking with him about it?"

"Yeah, about a million times. Straight out asked him, joked with him, got mad at him, ignored him. I've tried every psychological angle I could think of; he's just not saying anything. And he just keeps piling on the work for me. I thought that if I successfully complete all his 'tasks' that maybe he'll finally spill his guts, but..." he paused and added, "Maybe I'm the one with the problem. Why am I doing all this worrying and wondering?"

"Because you care about him," Christy said with a smile. "Did you follow him?"

"That's kind of hard to do when you drive a 'firecracker'," he laughed. "He'd spot me a mile away."

"Let's use my rental car then," she suggested.

"I don't know if I should get you involved, Christy. Remember Arkansas? I don't want to put you in any danger, and anyhow, you have the conference to go to."

"Don't worry about the conference. I'm worried about both of you," she said. "I want to help."

He thought about her suggestion for a moment. "I suppose we could do that--use your car, that is. He usually comes home around lunchtime then goes out again. Yeah... we could follow him this afternoon and see where it takes us." He shook his head wondering again. "I still keep coming back to this lady's murder, but the thing that doesn't fit is that he started going off by himself before she was killed."

"Maybe this afternoon will tell us something," Christy said.

OOOOO

Mark had finished up his English paper and was ready to take it over to have it typed up. He asked Christy if she wanted to come along for the drive. As they were getting ready to pull away from the house, a man about their age came driving up.

Mark idled the Coyote as the man pulled alongside of them and asked, "Can I help you with something? This is a private residence," he added, because he didn't recognize the man.

"I'm here to see Judge Hardcastle... is he around?" the other man asked pleasantly.

"No, I'm sorry, he's out right now, and I'm not sure when he'll be back. I can take your name and number and have him give you a call?" Mark offered.

"Uh, no... forget it. I'll catch up with him soon enough," the man replied quickly. He stared at Mark and Christy for an unusually long moment of time. "Do I know you?" he suddenly asked McCormick.

A bit flabbergasted by the question, Mark stumbled with his answer momentarily. "Um, no... I don't think so. I'm Mark McCormick. I work for Judge Hardcastle," he said. "Why don't you just tell me your name and I'll be sure to let the Judge know you stopped by?"

"I'm just an old friend of his son's," the man said, still staring at them with a quizzical, vague look as if he wasn't quite focused. "He'll know who I am." He paused, "How is Tommy? Is he around?" he asked.

Mark was totally shocked, and was equally surprised to hear the answer come out of his own mouth, "No, uh, um... I'm not sure how to say this, but... well," he paused and added quietly, "Tommy died over in Vietnam."

The man acted as if he didn't care about the answer at all. He continued to stare at McCormick. "Are you sure I don't know you? Did we meet back in high school?"

"No, I don't think so. What'd you say your name was? Maybe I'll recognize it." Mark tried again. Christy was equally perplexed sitting beside him in the car.

The man didn't answer; he merely put the car in drive and pulled away.

Mark and Christy gave each other confused looks for a few moments, neither saying anything, until Mark finally spoke up. "Something is definitely wrong here."

"Why don't we follow him and see what happens?" Christy suggested.

McCormick nodded, put the car in gear and raced after him.

OOOOO

Milt went downtown to see Frank Harper. "I think McCormick's got something on Mike Chen Jr., Frank. He can identify him as one of the men who assaulted him."

"Where is Mark?" Frank asked.

"An old friend of his showed up at the house," the Judge explained.

"So, he's coming in later to complete his report?" Milt cleared his throat, to indicate he didn't have an answer. "What is it with the two of you?" Frank began a mild rant. "I mean, come on. First, you run around and ask all sorts of questions. You refuse to tell anyone anything--including him-- who, in case you didn't realize it, would lay down his life for you. That's how loyal he is." Milt tried to interrupt, but Harper kept blasting him. "Then he gets the crap kicked out of him, asking his own questions trying to find out what's bothering you, and now you say he knows who did it but isn't going to say anything to the cops? I thought the two of you wanted to help the police? I guess I just don't understand either one of you. I think it's time you got on the same page, for all our sakes, or someone is liable to end up dead. You know we already are trying to figure out who viciously killed Ellie Warren. Do you want that to happen to one of you?" He finished his tirade with a glare at the older man.

Hardcastle let out a deep breath and scowled. He hated it when someone else's viewpoint was more right than his own. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Frank. It's just that, well...some things are personal."

"When your life is on the line, I would think you'd shuck the personal for staying alive."

"Okay, I heard you the first time. I'll talk to him and tell him the whole thing."

"Good, glad to hear it," Harper said. "Now I suppose I need to give the same lecture to him?"

Hardcastle ignored the latest remark. "So, you got anything on Chen or that guy from the bank yet?"

"The guy from the bank is clear... aside from him having an affair with Miss Warren, we've got nothing to arrest him for. He's got some explaining to do to his wife though. We checked out his alibi for the time of the murder and it was legit. Chen doesn't have one yet, but we're having a hard time connecting some dots between him and Ellie Warren."

"Well, McCormick must have touched on a nerve—otherwise, why else would Chen come after him?"

"I don't know, Milt," Frank paused. "Why don't you convince Mark to come in and tell us his version of the incident?"

"I will, just as soon as I get back home," Milt was annoyed by Harper's persistence on the point.

"There's still something else, isn't there?" Frank sensed Hardcastle was holding something back.

"Nothing definite, Frank. If I get anything concrete, I promise I'll let you know. Right now, it's just a lot of questions." Hardcastle stood up from the chair. "If I get anything else, I'll let you know...and I'll shag the kid in here to complete his report. You know, I think he took a blow or two to his head, courtesy of that attack, but the cobwebs are starting to clear up now. I'm sure he'll give you all the details."

"I'll be sure to note that when the officers of record wonder why he withheld information," Harper said with a sarcastic smile, knowing that Hardcastle was trying to cover for the kid's avoidance tactics. He wished that the jurist would take the same advice, adding, "Milt, whatever it is, you can trust him with it. You know that... and the same goes for telling me."

Hardcastle stood in the doorway and motioned with his head that he'd gotten the message.

OOOOO

Following the strange man was turning into a wild goose chase for Mark and Christy. They'd been to the supermarket, the barbershop, the hardware store and finally to the phone company, probably to pay a past bill. The strange behavior they had witnessed at Gull's Way had obviously stopped at least for the rest of the morning.

The man's next stop was to an old run-down house. He carried in the bags he'd purchased and didn't seem to notice the red sports car that parked about a block away.

"Who do you think he is?" Christy asked as they sat in the Coyote and watched the front door of the residence.

"I don't know, but I'd be willing to bet $20 that Hardcastle can give us all the answers we need to know," Mark said, not noticing the gentleman approaching the red car from behind.

"That's $20 you're sure to lose there, kiddo," Hardcastle's voice rumbled through the tiny car. "And just what are you two doing sitting out here on the street?"

Mark checked his rear view mirror and saw Hardcastle's truck parked just behind him. "Uh...Hi ,Judge," he started, nervously.

"Don't 'Hi, Judge' me--what are you doing here, McCormick... and why are you dragging Christy into whatever it is you think it might be?" Hardcastle asked sternly.

"Judge Hardcastle, this was my idea," Christy began. "The man in there," she pointed at the house, "came looking for you at Gull's Way and he was acting very strange. I convinced Mark that we needed to follow him. We think he lives here."

The Judge held up his hand, "Christy, this is not your fault. McCormick's got a mind of his own, and he just doesn't know the meaning of 'no', that's all."

Mark shook his head and looked sadly over at Christy. "I have a feeling that I'll be adding an addition on to Gull's Way that should keep me out of his way for the next year or so."

"Only if that addition is someplace I can lock you up in," Hardcastle chided him.

McCormick ignored the comment and asked, "Who is this guy, Judge? At least tell us that before you banish me to manual labor for the rest of my existence."

"McCormick, go home, there's nothing here," the Judge ordered

"If there's nothing, why are you here? Checking out real estate perhaps? This isn't exactly your kind of neighborhood," McCormick smarted off, irritated at the jurist's continued concealment of the explanation.

"Christy, take him to your conference, okay? Or better yet, go have a picnic, see the sites...just get him out of my hair," Hardcastle said with tiredness in his voice.

McCormick didn't waste a minute to retort, "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you arranged to have her come here right now, just to keep me out of your way. First, all the extra work around the house, and now you want me to be a tour guide." He shook his head, "I don't get it...what is so damn secretive? You've never been like this before. If you want me out, why don't you just say so? I'll move out."

"McCormick, you're getting wound up over nothing. I didn't ask her to come here, kiddo; she came out because she wanted to see you. And I don't want you to move out. I just need some time here, okay? Now would you get out of here? And go see Frank about finishing your police report. I told him you knew that Mike Chen Jr. was involved in the assault."

"You WHAT?" McCormick was incensed.

"I told him that you just forgot to mention that you knew one of your attackers. It might help his case, he cleared the banker, and Chen's the prime suspect now."

"I knew you were working on the case." McCormick stated, lowering his voice to add, "And I thought you'd be a little more discreet with that information."

"You should know by now that I don't withhold information from the police, kiddo--and I've told you about a hundred times that I'm not working on the Warren murder," Hardcastle patiently explained. "So get over there and see him, finish the report, and then go enjoy your afternoon with Christy."

"While you do what? Judge, none of this is making sense." Hardcastle turned away, ignoring Mark's insistent plea, "That guy is pretty weird. I'm worried about you, Hardcase."

"Mark, let's go." Christy tapped his knee. She knew he was getting nowhere with the Judge.

McCormick took one more quick, irritated look at the older man, fired up the Coyote and tore away from the curb.

OOOOOO

"He really didn't ask me to come out here; you know that, right?" Christy said softly to a suddenly surprisingly quiet McCormick. He didn't even bother to answer. "Do you want to go the conference with me? How about some lunch? We could stop and grab something to eat? Mark, you have to say something," she demanded, trying to break through his gloomy mood.

"He's a crazy old man...acting like a donkey," Mark began. "I just wish I knew what he was hiding. And I still think he's working on the Warren case. Who is that guy who came to the house and why is the Judge following him?" McCormick's voice showed his confusion and frustration.

"Mark, he just can't tell you right now. It obviously has something to do with Tommy, right?"

McCormick nodded, "That's probably the best guess right now. That guy seems to be the same age as Tommy; maybe they knew each other before the war. But that still doesn't explain what he has to do with Hardcastle right now."

"So what do we do?" Christy asked him.

He let out a deep breath, "I'm gotta drop off this paper, then I'm going to the police station and finish the report, and then... how about a picnic on the beach?" He finally looked in her direction and gave her a smile.

"A picnic? You want to go on a picnic? Now... in the midst of all this?"

"What else can we do? Hardcastle wants us out of his life, so let's give him the space for now."

OOOOO

The Judge walked up to the front door of the battered, rundown house and knocked on the door. Before he'd even finished, the door swung open and Matt Soens grabbed him by the arm, yanking him inside the dark living area. Matt pushed him into the middle of the room and pointed a small caliber handgun at him.

"Matt, it's me, Milt...Milt Hardcastle. What's going on? You don't need to point a gun at me."

"'What's going on'? You know what's going on!" Soens began to rant. "Do you think I'm blind? I saw you out there talking with him and the woman. I know who they are."

"Matt, settle down...there's nothing to get upset about. That's just the kid who works with me. Remember, I told you about him. You met him at the house before, right? He was giving me a message, he knew I was coming to see you," the Judge tried to explain.

"And the woman? I thought she was dead. I followed her too. I saw it. I thought Tommy was dead," Matt said in obvious confusion.

"Matt, why don't you sit down and we can talk about this. Let me try to explain. I know about your stay up in Sacramento."

"I didn't like it there. I didn't want to be there anymore. I want to be back here with all my friends."

"We can talk about it--how's that sound? Why don't you give me the gun there?" Hardcastle nodded toward the offending weapon.

"What did Tommy say about me? I know he told you." Soens lifted up the gun even higher and kept a tight grasp on it.

"He said he wanted you to get some help; he wanted to be the one to help you."

"No, what did he just tell you out in that fancy little car of his? Man, he always had everything. Brains, looks, girls...and he's still got everything," Matt lamented. "I saw him talking with that furniture guy. He saw me in the store. He knows, doesn't he?"

Hardcastle glanced around the darkened room and noticed a chair off to one side. "Matt, let's sit down." He took a step towards the chair.

Matt steadied the gun and shouted, "No, we're not sitting down, we're not talking. I just want to talk to Tommy." He moved toward Hardcastle and swung the gun against the side of the Judge's head, sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap.

OOOOO

"Yeah, Frank...you know I already got this lecture from Hardcastle," Mark said as he slowly paced the familiar office.

"Withholding evidence in a police investigation is pretty serious, Mark," Frank reiterated.

Mark rolled his eyes toward Christy. "Look, Frank, is there anything else you need from me, because this whole scene is unnecessary unless you're just looking to have more words in the story of your life?"

Frank was somewhat annoyed by the smart aleck comment. "I thought you'd like to know that we're going to pick up Chen and question him."

"That's great, but do you have anything solid on him?"

"I didn't say we were arresting him. I said we're going to bring him in for questioning. Now that you identified him, we have some solid ground to stand on. Maybe we can sweat him out," Frank explained.

"Good for you, Frank. Let me know if it works," Mark said, starting to rise.

"What's that supposed to mean? I thought you'd want to hang around and see what happens."

"No, I'm not interested in sticking around. Plus, I've been ordered by Hardcase to stay out of it, so I'm staying out of it." Mark tipped his head to Christy. "Am I right?" he asked her. Without waiting for her reply, he added, "I've had enough home improvement projects and grunt work to last the rest of my life. Being in his doghouse is not exactly where I want to be. So when he says stay out of it, that's just what I intend to do."

"We can hang around here if you want, Mark," Christy offered.

McCormick rose up from the chair , then reached down and pulled Christy to her feet. "Nope, I promised Hardcase, and I promised you a picnic. Let's go. Frank, see ya around."

Frank sat back in his chair and gave the two of them a wave and a smile on their way out. He knew things were all coming to a head.

OOOOO

Mark and Christy decided just to head back to Seagull Beach for the picnic. Before they headed down the path, they raided the refrigerator in the main house and found some leftover fried chicken, some potato chips and a bottle of wine. As they walked out onto the back porch Mark said to Christy, "The only rule we have is we don't talk about Hardcastle, that crazy guy, or the murder case."

"That's three rules," Christy said.

"Yeah okay, okay... but you get the picture, right?" he grinned.

She leaned in to him and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Yes, I get it. We are only going to talk about you!" she joked.

McCormick feigned being hurt. "Not just me...you too, or maybe even us," he playfully suggested.

"There's an 'us', huh?" Christy asked.

"I hope so," he smiled.

"You do?"

"Sure I do." He paused, "You've been a good friend to me, especially when things have gotten really crazy. Saying thank you doesn't seem like enough. Not everyone would stick by someone when things get so completely out of whack like they do around me, you know?"

She nodded her agreement, "I feel the same way about you."

"I think I have you beat in the crazy department. Living with Hardcastle makes you like that; he's something else, you know?"

She laughed lightly, "You two don't realize how similar you really are, do you?"

"Me and Hardcase? Alike?"

"Yes--there's nothing wrong with that, you know? I mean, you probably start out at different places, but you generally always wind up in the same one."

"That's just because Tonto has to follow behind. I can't let anything happen to the Lone Ranger, right?" Mark teased.

"You can joke about it all you want, but it's the truth...someday you'll see it."

A moment of silence passed between them. "Nah, you're right, I do see it, I just don't like to admit that the old donkey's grown on me." He paused, "You do realize we just ventured into one of the topics of conversation we weren't supposed to?"

"You're right, enough for the serious stuff. Let's eat--I'm starving," Christy said. They spread the blanket down, ate a little, talked a lot ,and got to know each other a little better.

OOOOO

About a half hour later, Matt Soens appeared on the beach. He reached inside the army jacket he wore and pulled out the gun, pointing it at the two of them. "I knew you'd be down here-- you're always down here!" he shouted angrily. "You don't even have any idea of everything you got ,do you? That fancy car, this mansion, the beach... all of it!"

Mark put his hands in the air to show that he was not willing to engage in any kind of violence. "Hey listen...Judge Hardcastle isn't here right now, but maybe we can talk about whatever is bothering you. How does that sound?" McCormick was worried about the Judge's whereabouts and safety, since the last time he'd seen him was at this crazy man's house.

"I took care of the Judge. He wanted to talk to me, too...and I'm tired of talking."

Mark immediately knew his concern was warranted. This guy had done something to the Judge. "So, what are you going to do...just kill us?" Mark asked, started to get to his feet. Christy tried to grab his arm, but he shrugged out of her grasp. "We don't even know who you are."

"You know me," Matt retorted, "but you think there's something wrong with me. I heard you all talking about me down here on the beach. You think I'm weird. I just followed her to be with her...to be her friend. She just laughed at me." He turned his attention to Christy as he spoke the last.

"That wasn't us, man... we're not who you think we are. We only met this morning," Mark tried to explain. Christy started to rise up to stand beside Mark.

"He thinks we're someone else," she whispered to him.

Mark nodded ever so slightly. "I think we're supposed to be Tommy and Ellie. Just play along."

"It doesn't matter if you want to act like you don't know me. I know who you are!" Matt screamed at them.

Mark shook his head--he wasn't sure how to try to explain anything to this guy. He wished he knew his name. McCormick took a chance on guessing what this guy was thinking. "Listen, man, I understand. You can trust me to help you. I've helped you before, haven't I?"

"You did once, Tommy," the man answered. "But I was different then."

"I can help you again--we both can," Mark said, nodding at Christy.

Christy leaned in against Mark again and softly said, "He does think you're the Judge's son."

McCormick nodded at her. "So... why don't you let me help you now?" Mark suggested to Soens.

"Your Dad said he'd help, too. You're both liars."

"That's not true--you know that. We both helped you before and we can help you now, but you have to let us," Mark replied, inching closer to Matt. "Where is my Dad?" McCormick asked, never hesitating to call the Judge by that name.

Out from behind Matt, Hardcastle stepped onto the sandy beach. "I'm right here, kiddo," he said. Both Mark and Christy noticed that a trail of dried blood ran down the side of his face from a deep gash. Matt spun around and, seeing the Judge, took a few steps backwards and swung the gun back and forth in both directions to keep them all at bay.

"Are you okay?" Mark asked Milt.

"Yeah, I'm fine, kiddo. It looks worse than it is." The Judge took a step closer to Soens. "Matt, you know Tommy's your friend. You guys were in the Army together. He stood by you, remember?"

Matt nodded, "But he said he just met me--he doesn't know me. He thinks there's something wrong with me, too. Just like the doctors up in Sacramento."

McCormick inched closer to Matt while the Judge kept talking to him.

'Oh, he knows you, Matt. You know Tommy's always been a kidder; he just likes being the funny guy all the time. We both want to help you now, Matt. Why don't you let us?"

Soens shut his eyes tight and then opened them, refocusing on the Judge. "No one will believe what I have to say. You saw it in my file, Judge. Section 8, Looney Toon and all that. They say I'm schizophrenic."

"No, what your file says is that you need to stay on your medication. You haven't been on your medication lately, have you, Matt?"

"It makes me tired," Matt explained.

"The doctors can fix that; they can adjust the dose or let you try something else. They want to help you, too."

"They're not gonna believe me after what I saw and what I did."

"What did you see, Matt? Will you tell us?" Hardcastle prodded.

"She's dead. Ellie's dead...you know that?"

"Yeah, we know." Milt motioned for Mark to hold up for a minute before he'd make a move to grab the gun away. He wanted to hear what Matt had to say.

"I found out about her when I got out of the hospital. I read in the paper that she lived down here and she worked for the bank, so I followed her a bunch of times. She was with all kinds of men; then she took up with that Asian man. I went into his store and saw them. They yelled at each other. He called her a tramp. He knew what I knew. That night she was very late in coming home, and I saw the man turn off the lights in her apartment parking lot."

"What man, Matt?"

"The Asian man," he said, and continued, "then he crouched down behind a car and when she started to walk to her room, he went after her and they started to talk."

"What were they saying, Matt? Do you remember?"

"She told him that it was over--the affair she was having with him was over. She said that he wasn't good enough for her." Soens paused, "She just used him--like she used everyone. Then he pulled out the knife and stabbed her over and over and over again. I got out of my car and he saw me and ran." Matt's face twisted in anger. "She did the same thing to me back in high school. None of us were good enough for her, except him," he turned toward Mark and re-aimed the gun at him. McCormick took a sudden step back.

"And you shot her, didn't you, Matt?" Hardcastle asked quietly.

"Yeah, I shot her eight times--one time for every day I saw her," Soens said coldly, still pointing the gun at Mark's chest.

"Matt, look at me," the Judge said. Matt turned his head slightly but kept the gun trained on Mark. "I can help you; I'm a judge, remember? I can go to court with you. She was already dead from the stabbing...you didn't kill her."

With his free hand, Matt ran his fingers over his eyes and through his hair trying to make sense of everything. McCormick made his move, throwing a body block into Soens and dislodging the gun from his hand. Mark struggled with him on the ground, while the Judge picked up the gun.

"Get off of me! It's not supposed to be like this!" Matt shouted, kicking up sand and continuing to struggle with every bit of strength he had. Mark kept a tight grip on the flailing body, trying to knock away Soens's swinging fist. Matt managed to roll on top of McCormick, grabbing his throat and yelling "It's not fair! You had everything, Tommy!"

Mark gagged as his airway was pinched and brought up a knee in reflex, landing a punch in Matt's belly. He then lunged upward with his right fist, hitting the other man a hard blow alongside the jaw. Soens' body dropped to the sand and Mark rolled out and away from it, sitting up slowly.

"Christy, why don't you go call the police?" Hardcastle asked, "And have them to send an ambulance too." Christy nodded and dashed off up toward the house.

"I thought you said you weren't working on the Warren case?" McCormick asked the Judge after taking a deep, cleansing breath to get his lungs working again.

"I wasn't--she died from the stabbing, not from the gunshot wounds. Like I told you, I was trying to help an old friend," Hardcastle explained.

Mark shook his head in disbelief and let it fall onto his chest. "You are something else, Hardcase...something else," he sighed.

"Now you're cooking."

OOOOOO

It was just after noon on the following day when Mark and Christy stood in the airport. Her plane was getting ready to take off and the two of them were having a tougher than usual time in saying goodbye.

"We really need to stop saying goodbye," Mark said, breaking away from a kiss.

"You could always move to New York," Christy said.

"Or you could move out here. Heck, you could move in with me," he offered.

"Or we could meet in Clarence every so often," she locked him in a kiss of her own.

"Mmmm, but see, that's the problem." He pulled back regretfully. "This once and awhile stuff, arrrgghh," he groaned, "I'm not crazy about that."

"I'm sorry about last night. I know you probably wanted to be alone with me, but I just thought we should be with Judge Hardcastle," Christy explained.

Mark shrugged it off, "You don't have to apologize; that was absolutely the right thing to do. Besides, after twelve stitches and a concussion, he needed to be watched anyway."

"Do you think he'll ever tell you about Tommy?" she asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I hope so. I'd like to know more about him, but I know how the Judge is about his family and I try not to intrude on that. I just had no idea that's what this was all about. It makes perfect sense now."

"I don't think we know the whole story either," Christy added.

Mark nodded his agreement, "You're probably right."

"Flight 714 to New York is in final boarding," came the announcement over the loudspeaker.

"Maybe he'll tell you more when you get back home." Christy commented.

Mark took a deep breath. "I'll leave that up to him."

She tugged at the collar on his jacket, straightening the flap. "I love both you guys!" she said, leaning in for one last kiss.

"I love you," he murmured against her lips, "and Hardcase does too."

"I better get going. We'll do this again soon, okay?"

"Absolutely." He paused, "and no interruptions or surprises next time, right?"

She nodded yes as she broke away from him and walked quickly into the gate's tunnel.

OOOOO

While Mark was taking Christy back to the airport, Milt kept busy by continuing to read through the large stack of letters that Tommy had managed to write when he was stationed in Vietnam. As he had read through them over the last several weeks, he had begun to understand his son in a whole new light. He didn't recall several of the letters—they'd been specifically addressed to Nancy, just as some had been sent directly to him. But now he couldn't help but look at all of them. He didn't think Nancy or Tommy would mind. One letter in particular caught his eye.

_Dear Mom,_

_Greetings from a soggy and rainy Vietnam. Even amidst all this mud, torrential rain, and constant fighting, this country is actually sort of beautiful…nature-wise that is. Everything is green and lush. If it weren't for the war, I think this would be some sort of paradise._

_I finally figured out what I want to study in college. I know Dad will probably be upset, but it's something I really would like to do. I want to study psychology or psychiatry and maybe get involved in some sort of social work. I really like helping people. I know you understand that, Mom, but I'm hoping you can soften the blow with Dad. I think he's got his heart set on me going the law school route, but I just don't have the desire._

_On the other matter we've been discussing, it doesn't surprise me to hear about Ellie and her next conquest. I know you're right-- I do think she really loved me, but just like the law school thing...I don't feel the same way for her. I wish her happiness, but I'm not surprised how she treated Ben, after she basically did the same thing to Jon, Luke, Matt and Doug. And those were just the ones I knew about._

_The Sarge is coming around to pick up mail, so I'll make this a short one for now, Mom. I'll write more when I get another break._

_Love,_

_Tommy_

Milt folded up the letter and put it back into the yellowed envelope. He'd read enough for a while. Now he needed to do some talking.

OOOOO

Mark got back to Gull's Way shortly before three in the afternoon. He went into the main house to look for Hardcastle and didn't find him. He walked out back to the patio and the pool area with no success and went finally down the path to the beach. He spotted Milt off in the distance, sitting on the large rocks above the surf, and began to walk toward him.

"You're supposed to stay close to home, Hardcase; remember the doctor's orders?" Mark chided. "A head injury is nothing to mess with, Judge."

Milt was touched inwardly by the kid's obvious concern but he couldn't let him know that. "I am close to home-- this is my beach, remember?" he groused. "Did you get Christy on her plane on time?"

"Yeah," McCormick said with a fond smile, "wouldn't you know it? It's probably the first time in the history of LAX that a plane was on time. I'm telling ya, the stars are lining up against this relationship, Judge. It's just one murder after another when the two of us are together."

Milt let go a laugh. "Oh, that's not true. If it's meant to be, it'll happen. She's a very nice gal," Hardcastle added with genuine affection.

Mark knew that calling Christy a 'nice gal' was about the best compliment Hardcastle could give out. "How's your head?"

"Now that the double vision and the ringing in my ears stopped, it's just a dull, throbbing headache. I've had worse; I'll survive."

"You want me to get you an aspirin or something?" McCormick asked.

"Nah, I'm fine."

The sound of the nearby ocean waves resonated between them.

"So... what are you doing down here, anyway? You'd probably be more comfortable in your chair in the den with John Wayne movies playing in the background, you know?" McCormick tried to shag him back to the house.

Hardcastle ignored the kid's concern. "You know, it's days like this-- these bright, clear, sunny days--that I can still feel him down here. Heck, when he was around, the weather always seemed to be like this."

Mark dipped his head down, he knew Milt was referring to Tommy.

"It's okay kid... I'm not trying to be morose here. Sometimes it's good to remember and to talk about him." He gave Mark a warm, genuine smile and added, "I should have told you about him before now. That was my mistake." He paused and added, "that is, if you don't mind listening to a father boast a little about his son?"

"Not at all, Judge," McCormick replied quietly. He dearly wanted to know what kind of a person Tommy had been but was determined to let the older man speak about it by his own choice.

"I know I never say too much about him and I know you probably have all kinds of questions. But I appreciate you not poking around and asking." Milt stated. "I guess maybe it just had to be the right time. It's kind of hard to think about..." The Judge suddenly stopped and turned to look Mark directly in the eye.

"I understand," McCormick offered.

Hardcastle looked back toward the ocean. "I really put a bunch of crap on you these last few weeks."

"It's okay," Mark said, now coming to understand the whole connection between Tommy, Matt and Ellie.

"No, it's not okay. I shouldn't have treated you like that, " Hardcastle kicked the heel of his shoe against the rock. "I'm sorry. I should have just told you everything that was going on. It might have saved you from getting beat up and me from a concussion."

"Judge, really... this isn't necessary."

"Frank's right... you've got a mile long streak of loyalty inside you," Milt continued, still avoiding looking at McCormick.

"Frank said that?" McCormick was a bit surprised, then jokingly said, "My mom use to say that it was foolish stupidity."

That comment made Hardcastle turn and look at him. "She said that about you?"

McCormick grinned from ear to ear, "Nah, I just wanted to see if you were paying attention."

"You know, people really change right before your eyes, and sometimes you don't even realize it," Hardcastle said. "Children turn into adults, and adults, well... they just turn into people you don't expect them to be."

"But sometimes they surprise you--like Tommy."

Milt smiled at the thought of his son. "He was full of surprises. I think I'm more surprised about what I learned about him over the last couple of weeks than I ever was before. I've been reading his letters from Vietnam. Some of them were addressed to Nancy, and I foolishly never read them 'til now. He wanted to go into Social work," Hardcastle smiled, letting the idea of his son's career choice nourish his own soul. "I found that in one his old letters to his mother. Maybe even be a psychologist or psychiatrist, he'd said. My son wanted to be a doctor. How about that? I never even knew."

Mark sort of chuckled and said, "Well, now, that's not too far a step for the son of the modern day Lone Ranger. Helping people is what you're all about, Kemosabe."

Hardcastle laughed too. "You're right...I never thought about it that way, kiddo." The waves crashed before them. "You know you think you know your kid, but then you realize they're growing up--becoming an adult right before your eyes, making decisions without you, choosing their own part. And it all just sort of happens when you're not paying attention. I thought I knew him better than maybe I really did. But he was a helluva kid. He really traveled a good road in a short bit of time."

"Well, he had his parents to show him the way from the very beginning. It sure makes a difference. I think my Mom did that for me, too." McCormick commented. Milt nodded his agreement. "He sure tried to help Matt out, he knew he had problems way back when they were in high school."

Mark smiled. "Sounds like he had the makings of a career even then."

Milt nodded and pulled out an envelope from his shirt pocket. "I found one of these old letters of his that you might like to read... the kid was prophetic, too!" He stood up and handed the envelope over to Mark. For a moment McCormick was unsure whether to take it. "Go ahead, I want you to read it. Like I said, I should have told you about him before." Hardcastle insisted.

Mark reached out and took it from the Judge. "When you get done reading it, come on up. I'm going make us up some steaks on the grill, then we're gonna pull out a couple of John Wayne movies, okay?" Milt said.

"What about remodeling the bathroom?" Mark asked.

"That can wait 'til tomorrow," the Judge laughed. "So come on up, we'll talk some more."

"Sounds great," Mark said, holding the envelope in his hand like he'd just been handed a buried treasure.

Hardcastle started to walk up the beach path toward the house.

"You sure you want me to read this?" McCormick called out to him.

"Positive, now go ahead."

Mark took the spot on the rock that the Judge had vacated and sat down. He carefully pulled the letter out from the worn envelope. He eyes focused on the postmark from Vietnam and the date, some twelve years earlier. With special attention to protecting the worn paper, he unfolded the yellowed page in his hands and began to read.

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Our unit has been up for four days straight, fighting in a nearby jungle. We finally got relieved after a soldier in our squad fell asleep and nearly shot another guy, just by falling on his gun. I'm exhausted right now, but for some reason I just can't get to sleep yet. Once I do drift off, I'll probably be out for at least 24 straight. They brought us back to a safe zone for some R&R, so there's no need to worry, Mom. We can hear some fire, but it's easily 15 – 20 miles away._

_Thanks for forwarding my acceptance letter to UC-Santa Barbara. Maybe this time next year I'll be attending classes there. I know that'll make you happy, Pop. I know you wanted me to get a basketball scholarship, but at 5'8", I just don't have the height for it at that level of play._

_I'm really sorry to hear that you're having problems with the lawn and garden care at home. Nothing compares to the slave labor I used to provide to the Hardcastle house._

_I have a great idea though... I think the two of you should consider adoption. And I'm not talking about a baby, though if you wanted to do that, that would be okay, too. You know I always begged you to give me a little brother. But there are a lot of older kids who need a family. And for my money, you two are the best parents out there. You have so much to give to a kid, most importantly love, but look at all the stuff you've taught me--respect, honor, trust, the value of doing a job well, helping people out, sticking up for those who can't... you know--the kind of stuff kids need to learn. A lot of the guys here come from really poor home lives. I listen to them tell me about how they grew up and it makes me really sad, but also very grateful that I had you as my parents. I mean, look at Matt. His parents never seemed to care whether he was around or not. I'm trying to get him some help over here, but it's not easy. I've learned a lot about folks from being over here. I've had it pretty good with you two, and I count my blessings every night._

_My wish is that you share that with someone else._

_My eyes are starting to drop--I think the endless sleep is coming on. Think about my idea._

_Love always,_

_Tommy._

Mark reread the whole letter through several more times. In just a short letter he had a few more ideas of the kind of man Tommy Hardcastle had been. He hoped that down the road the Judge would tell him even more about him. He smiled warmly, and as he put the letter back into the envelope he saw Hardcastle's handwriting on the back side.

It simply read: 'Tommy's last letter home'.


End file.
